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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129585">The hearth down under</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalquill/pseuds/Crystalquill'>Crystalquill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bird Hybrid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Goat Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kind of. the sbi dynamic be complicated, POV Original Character, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Worldbuilding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:01:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalquill/pseuds/Crystalquill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape. </p><p>But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ranboo &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) &amp; Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This idea came to me like that one vine of the stomp rocket: it was like “oh damn! There comes another story idea… AUGH! *gets hit in the face, the camera falls to the floor*”<br/>Basically, this is just self-indulgent hurt/comfort brain rot that I *have* to get out of my system if I want to be a functioning human being again, but if I’m writing this might as well share it.<br/>I’ve read a lot of DSMP fics so if you find something similar, it’s probably me unconsciously taking inspiration. That said, I’ve specifically taken inspiration from the fic Rewind, mostly around the worldbuilding of the piglin tribes and a few other tiny details. I *adore* that fic.<br/>So yeah. Welcome to the show.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy watches with dread as the last photos he had, his last reminders of a happy L’Manburg and his friends and his <em> home </em> , smolder slowly into ash in his hands. He hadn’t been fast enough to stuff them into his ender chest and now they’re <em> gone. </em>Just like everything else. </p><p>Two months ago he would have screamed at Dream and tried to fight him with a shitty wooden sword. A few weeks ago he would have cried, gritting his teeth because <em> big men don’t cry </em> and he wouldn’t give Dream the satisfaction.</p><p>Now he stares at the hole where Tnret used to be with horrified detachment. He walks with absent steps, passing by the Christmas tree and Ghostbur’s tent, smells the gunpowder still lingering in the air. </p><p>He’s so tired. Everything is gone again, he’s alone and he’s just so tired. He wants to go back to L’Manburg, but not the one that’s there today. The one just after the war, when Wilbur was still alive and sane and Tubbo didn’t hate him. </p><p>He’s never getting that back though. He <em> knows </em> it’s all just as gone as the little home he’d built for himself here in Logstedshire. </p><p>The embers from the photo in his hand climb the paper and burn his skin. With a hiss, he lets it go on reflex and watches the paper gently float down to the sand.</p><p>Rubbing his burned hand absently, a spark of anger lights in Tommy’s chest. Dream’s a shit friend, he decides. The <em> shittiest </em> of friends. Who is he to tell him what to do? Who is he to break all the things he’d worked for day and night?</p><p>Tommy’s a shit person, and selfish and reckless, Dream had taught him that much, but so what? If Dream wanted reckless, Tommy would <em> give </em>him reckless.</p><p>With a burst of dark anger, Tommy rips his communicator off his arm, throwing it at the floor and watching as the screen cracks. He kicks it with all his strength and immediately regrets it when it hurts him more than it breaks the comm. He swears loudly and hates how out-of-place it sounds in the silence of the beach.</p><p>He <em> hates </em> the silence. It’s wrong, wrong and he tries to babble to break it but his throat gives up almost immediately, coughing from the soot and smoke he’d inhaled. And as the coughs shake his body and make his vision blurred with tears, Tommy decides he’s <em> done. </em></p><p>He takes deep breaths and with the desperation of a drowning man, he grabs the still-smoldering photos and throws himself at the portal. With shaking hands he carefully fans the embers until he has a small flame going. And then the portal lights with a purple haze and Tommy doesn’t wait to step into it.</p><p>The familiar vertigo of portal-traveling envelops him, and when his eyes clear he breaks into a run. He doesn’t stop until he’s at his screaming station, surrounded by lava. </p><p>He’s crying, he thinks, as he stares through his feet at the sea of warmth. But for the first time in a long while, his eyes shine with determination. </p><p>“I’m dying on <em> my </em> terms,” whispers Tommy, voice unable to shout. “ <em> Fuck you, Dream.” </em></p><p>And he tips forward, falling into the fire.</p><hr/><p>Wraith sighs as they mine the last quartz ore from the vein they’d found, stuffing the last netherrack-covered quartz crystals into their satchel, shaking their tired arms. </p><p>They make a mental count of their to-do list, groaning at the reminder that they still need to get more blaze rods. That’s going to suck. </p><p>The splash of lava reaches their ears. It’s second-nature to turn around and chuck a fire-resistance potion at whoever was unlucky enough to fall into the burning liquid. Setting their leather satchel aside, Wraith throws themselves into the lava, welcoming the familiar, harmless warmth. Still, they have a mission, so with a great push, they sink into the lava, hands finding the limp body and dragging it to the shore. </p><p>Carefully, Wraith lifts the unfortunate person and lays them on the netherrack, flicking the last droplets of lava off. And then they notice: “An Overworlder? Did I just save an <em> Overworlder?” </em></p><p>Said Overworlder looks <em> rough</em>. He’s so thin that Wraith thought for a second that he was a skeleton hybrid, before realizing there’s still skin on his bones. Burns and cuts litter his skin over old scars, blisters beginning to form on green bruises. </p><p>One thing is clear: if Wraith leaves this person here, they will die. They are many things, but a murderer is not one of them. With worryingly little difficulty, Wraith takes the person into their arms and levitates higher into the air, taking a fast way home.</p><p>“Great, just do that, save an Overworlder you absolute fool. As if you weren’t running late on potion batches!” grumbles Wraith gently swerving around a lava waterfall. “And who even is this idiot, coming to the Nether without armor?”</p><p>The red trees of the Crimson Forest finally come into view and Wraith breathes a sigh of relief, the last burst of speed taking them to the little hole high on the netherrack that serves as the entrance to their house. </p><p>Wraith carefully lays the Overworlder on their work table and opens the chest containing their personal potions, taking out a few before going to their first-aid chest and dragging the whole thing to beside their table. </p><p>First things first, Wraith goes to the cauldron full of lava sitting under the chimney and dips their hands in, effectively sterilizing them. Shaking off the droplets of lava, they dig out a pair of shears. </p><p>The Overworlder is dressed in what could generously be called rags, so dirty and torn that Wraith can’t begin to guess what color they were originally. Those have to go if they want to see the true extent of their injuries. </p><p>Snipping away the shirt, Wraith has to take a second to breathe in and out. The sheer amount of burns, bruises, and scars are <em> even worse </em> than they’d thought at first glance. Some of the burns look explosion-related and <em> weeks </em> old. Some of the bruises look <em> intentional</em>, as if someone had gripped so hard it left hand-shaped welts circling his arms. </p><p>“What happened to you?” murmurs Wraith before shaking their head and going back to work. It takes only a few seconds to cut away the shirt, and even less to turn the shredded pants into shorts. Wraith prays there aren’t any injuries around the crotch, they do <em> not </em> want anything to do with that specific area. </p><p>Reaching into their enderchest, Wraith retrieves one of their precious few water buckets and a single bottle of alcohol, quickly dousing a clean rag in a bit of water and alcohol, wiping away the grime from the wounds. </p><p>The repetitive work allows Wraith to disconnect their mind, letting their hands move with precision. Time blurs by, and after the wounds are clean, Wraith dips a new rag into a mix of healing, regeneration, and fire-resistance potions and starts dousing the wounds with it. </p><p>It would be more effective to make the Overworlder drink the potions but with that degree of malnutrition and possible dehydration, it would be a death sentence. Not to mention the blaze powder making the chances of heatstroke even worse. </p><p>Wraith curses at their forgetfulness, taking another rag and dipping it into the water bucket, gently laying it on the Overworlder’s forehead. They’d honestly forgotten heatstroke was a thing, it not being a problem amongst nether mobs and hybrids except in incredibly specific situations. That also made Wratith realize they had no idea how to treat it. Or how to treat burns past immediate care. </p><p>They guess they’ll have to improvise, thinks Wraith, going back to treating the wounds with the potion mixture. Once the wounds don’t look as horrifically bad, Wraith throws the remaining mixture into the lava, too contaminated to be of further use.</p><p>With a grimace of effort, Wraith moves the unconscious Overworlder into their bed. His feet touch the floor, legs far too long to be contained to the short bed, but Wraith has nowhere else to put him. </p><p>Now they can only wait and see, supposes Wraith. </p><hr/><p>Tommy wakes up with a throat so dry it burns. “Water…” he croaks. </p><p>Something moves in the periphery of his vision, but even when he tries to focus on it the only thing he sees is a white blob. </p><p>He’s helped onto a sitting position. A cool glass bottle is pressed against his lips, and Tommy greedily drinks the water inside, chasing every last droplet with frenzied desperation. </p><p>“Do you want food?” asks someone, very far away. </p><p>“M’head hurts,” answers Tommy before he lets himself fall into the darkness again.</p><hr/><p>The second time the Overworlder wakes up, he’s only conscious for long enough to drink cold soup broth before he starts talking gibberish, clearly delusional. </p><p>It scares Wraith enough that they go to the Crimson Tribe and begs the healer piglin for help. Neethel agrees to follow Wraith back to their house and treat the Overworlder, on the condition that they use Wraith’s supplies only.</p><p>Neethel ends up scolding Wraith for pouring water on third-degree burns, hurrying to sterilize the wounds to prevent infection that was probably already set in, the skin red and raised. </p><p>“<em> It’s not likely he’ll survive,” </em> says Neethel, wrapping the wounds in clean gauze. “ <em> And even if he does, the Nether is no place for a human child. </em>”</p><p>“<em> He’s a child?!?” </em> shouts Wraith, their perfect piglin pronunciation slipping, turning their grunts shrill. “ <em> He’s so tall I thought– Why– Where is his family?!?” </em></p><p><em> “Only Ender knows,” </em> Neethel snorts in response, his lips curling in disgust. “ <em> Takes an Overworlder to abandon a child.” </em></p><p>“<em> ... How old is he?” </em>asks Wraith hesitantly.</p><p>“<em> Old enough to begin weapons training but young enough that he wouldn’t have to worry over the adulthood trial for a while,” </em> Neethel answers, finishing up the last bandages. He taps his hooved feet against the red-wooded floor, a gesture of anger. “ <em> Barbarians, those humans.” </em></p><p>A pang of sympathy ignites in Wraith’s chest. “<em> Thank you for helping, Neethel.” </em></p><p><em> “You’re an ally of the Crimson Tribe,” </em>   answers the piglin, writing down a list of instructions for Wraith to follow. “ <em> I am honoring that loyalty by doing this, nothing more, nothing less.” </em></p><p>“<em>I’ll be grateful for this anyways,”</em> they answer, a bittersweet tornado of emotion whirling inside Wraith at Neethel’s words. “<em>I’ll float you down to the forest floor.”</em></p><hr/><p>Tommy wakes up. That wasn’t supposed to happen. </p><p>His everything hurts and the heat is oppressive and trying to incorporate himself proves to be a big mistake. He hisses as he shifts, burns dragging under the bandages he’s covered in. </p><p>“Do you want to drink?” asks a voice to Tommy’s left and he startles. He whips around to see a person, deathly white, holding a bottle swirling with faint yellow liquid. </p><p>The person is hesitantly looking at him, gently bobbing up and down in a way that betrays the fact they’re floating. A set of white, dreadlock-looking tentacles grow from their head, swaying behind them. They’re wearing a leather tunic cinched together at the waist by a belt lined with pouches, all of them looking full. The tunic ends at the knees, and below–</p><p>“Where the fuck are your legs?” blurts out Tommy, his voice a painful rasp.</p><p>The person blinks, their red eyes staring at him. “I am a Ghast hybrid, and I got the short end of the genetic stick so I was born without anything below the knee,” they explain, before awkwardly holding out the bottle again. “Do you, uh, want to drink?”</p><p>Tommy nods before practically snatching the bottle out of their hands, downing it in a rush. </p><p>“Careful! If you eat too fast you’ll–” </p><p>Nausea attacks Tommy, forcing him to stop and breathe, trying his best to keep the food inside of him.</p><p>“–get sick,” lamely finishes Wraith, before picking up an empty bucket and presenting it to him.</p><p>Tommy grabs the bucket and curls around it, head hanging over it just in case. After a few moments, he mumbles “I think I’m good now.”</p><p>“Right, so uh, what’s your name?” the ghast hybrid asks, gingerly picking up the empty bottle. </p><p>“Tommy Innit, male pronouns,” he answers, carefully monitoring their face for any kind of recognition. </p><p>They nod, slipping the bottle into one of the pouches. “I’m Wraith Nili, neutral pronouns,” they answer, moving a chair closer to him and sitting down. “I found you burning in a lava pool and got you out. You’ve been out for–” they pull out a shiny pocket-watch. “56 hours, which is two days and a bit if I’m not mistaken.”</p><p>“Two days?” says Tommy, stunned. He’d thought Dream would have found him by now. Wait, <em> Dream </em> . “Shit, I need to <em> go </em>, I can’t stay here–!”</p><p>“Absolutely not!” interjects Wraith, their eyes narrowing. </p><p>Tommy flinches, pressing himself against the wall and raising his hands to cover his face. </p><p>The silence stretches for a few seconds. </p><p>“Did you think I was going to hit you?” they ask, mystified. </p><p>“No! Fuck off and let me leave!” Tommy says, crossing his arms and glaring at them. </p><p>“You will not ruin all my hard work by running off into your death,” they say, also crossing their arms. “Do you have anyone that can come and pick you up?” </p><p>“I–” <em> was exiled by my best friend from the country I helped create after my sort-of father killed my brother and my sort-of brother told me to die and my (shitty) friend will probably kill me for disobeying him “ </em>– can take care of myself, I’m a big man, I don’t need anyone to ‘pick me up’ what is this, preschool?”</p><p>“By the Ender, I didn’t know you were going to be this infuriating,” states Wraith in a single, frustrated exhale. “Go back to bed, you’re still hurt. I’ll give you more food once I’m sure you can stomach it. There are water bottles in the chest beside your bed, drink them please, you’re severely dehydrated. If you need anything else, I’ll be over there.”</p><p>With that, they turn around and float towards a row of brewing stands, placing a few water bottles and netherwart in their respective places. </p><p>While they’re distracted, Tommy takes the time to look around. There are three doorways in the room, two at the back, one near the front, no way to tell where they lead to from where Tommy’s laying. No windows, which narrows the number of escape routes possible. </p><p>The floor is made of crimson planks while the walls and ceiling are made of a random mix of quartz: bricks, pillars, smooth blocks, even chiseled quartz, placed without a pattern. The room would be pretty spacious for a bedroom, but there’s a grill over a fire pit nearby and a washbasin tucked into the corner, so Tommy guesses that Wraith’s whole house is just one room that combines bedroom, kitchen, and living room. And workspace too, judging by the amount of glistening melons and crystalized Ghast tears sitting on the shelves. Wraith’s probably a cleric or potioneer, Tommy thinks. </p><p>The soft bubbling of potions reminds him of sleeping in the drug van with everybody squished on the cold metal, the brewing stands constantly working all through the night. If he closed his eyes, he could probably pretend that the warmth comes from too many people inside the van and that the smell of pork comes from Fundy’s pocket bacon. Maybe Tubbo’s just running a little late, getting distracted by some flower. Maybe Wilbur’s just setting up the last of the brewing stands before going to bed, where Tommy will press his back against Willbur’s while sleepily holding Tubbo’s hand. He’ll deny being clingy in the morning but at night, with nobody there to tease him, he’ll curl into the warmth of the people he loves–</p><p>Without him noticing, Tommy’s eyes close. He falls asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy wakes up with a choked cry, the last dregs of a nightmare slipping from his mind, leaving him trembling with adrenaline and no idea why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes dart around the room: it’s unchanged, except by a dozen potions of regen sitting near the brewing stands. That throws him for a second: his internal clock is telling him he’s slept for a long while, but since there’s no day or night in the Nether, he has no way of telling how long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith is nowhere to be found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gets out of bed, not paying attention to the flares of pain around his body (not as bad as he expected, Wraith must really know their shit), and goes for the chests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He first finds a chest full of food and grabs a stack of cooked porkchop, stuffing it into his inventory before shutting the chest and opening the next one. Ten golden apples, pog! With a grin, he swipes them, taking a big bite from one. He can feel the absorption settling in his body with a rush of energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Invigorated he grins and opens the next chest, finding a few sets of iron tools. He empties that chest, thinking that even if he doesn’t have a use for three iron hoes, at least he can smelt them for the iron. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye, he notices a set of golden armor hanging from an armor stand near the front door. Running to it, he unhooks it and begins strapping the armor on with practiced familiar motions, feeling safer and safer with each new piece in its place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when the door at the back of the room opens and Wraith walks in holding a diamond pickaxe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy freezes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you stealing from me?!?” shrieks Wraith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On instinct, Tommy breaks into a run and lunges towards the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! It’s dangerous–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slamming the door open, Tommy sees the sheer cliff right beyond the door and skids to a halt on instinct, but he’d gone too fast he’s going to fall–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pair of arms grab onto his shoulders and tug him back, making him fall backward and onto Wraith with a thump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow! Get your bony butt off me!” Wraith complains, shoving him to the side. “Can’t you stop trying to get yourself killed for five minutes?!?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t stopped trying to get myself killed for a month now, is what Tommy doesn’t say, scrambling to his feet instead. “You fucking kidnapped me, stop being a bitch and let me go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saved your life!” they snap back, floating back up. “Which you repaid by stealing from me! I just want to help you, why can’t you just stay put?!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go-“A wave of nausea climbs up Tommy’s throat and he claps a hand over his mouth. “Bucket!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a start, Wraith levitates until they grab the metal bucket, handing it to Tommy just in time for him to bend over and for his food to make a burning path back up. The bitter taste of bile floods his mouth and he gags again, but there’s nothing else to throw up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ate a golden apple on an empty stomach?!?” says Wraith, staring at the gold vomit with disbelief. “That is dangerous, Tommy! You’re lucky you threw it up, those things are extremely addictive!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you talking about?” groans Tommy, trying to wipe his teary eyes without them noticing. “I’ve eaten gapples before and I was fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve– Okay, no that’s bad,” says Wraith, gently taking the bucket from Tommy’s hands. “Look, if you don’t believe me, wait two minutes and then we’ll talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” answers Tommy, a brilliant response in his opinion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The regeneration of the gapple runs out and the pain returns full force. He’s blindsided by it for a second, letting out a whimper as he fights to stay on his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll help you,” says Wraith, guiding Tommy to the bed with a hand on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The touch burns despite how cold Wraith’s hand is, Tommy hyperaware of each movement. He doesn’t hesitate to sink onto the bed, curling up with his back against the cool quartz wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That clues him in that something’s wrong. Nothing in the Nether is cool. Shit, how high is his fever?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy takes another gapple from his inventory, hoping the regeneration will dull the pain again-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I just tell you!” shouts Wraith, their gaze narrowed. “Don’t eat any more golden apples!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Tommy shrinks back protectively around the apple, glaring as hard as he can despite his vision starting to blur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drop it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smells gunpowder and the white of Wraith’s face melts into a familiar white mask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flings the gapples onto the floor and his hands fly to undo the clasps of his armor, throwing it in front of him with a loud clang. He then throws his inventory open, flinging item after item onto the floor until it's empty. </span>
  <span>He clenches his hands over his ears, pressing himself into the wall as he can go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all, I don’t have anymore, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes harder, why is it taking so long? “I really don’t have anything more! Please, please don’t blow up the tools-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-the armor,” says someone, their voice coming from far away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can keep the armor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to make sense of the words, but they simply don’t fit. “You’re lying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lying, you never let me keep it,” Tommy says, his chest aching with lack of air, his breaths coming shorter and shallower. “Stop- stop the bullshit, Dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s Dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reality crashes down around him, the phantom scent of seawater leaving and he shakes his head, the worried face of Wraith coming into focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shame floods his chest and the vice on his chest gets tighter. His heart beats like gunshots in his ears while his hands shake and he can’t stop. He’s being stupid, he’s being a pussy, fuck it hurts-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- What’s wrong?” Wraith asks, their voice frantic. “What can I do to help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave-“ chokes out Tommy, his nails digging into the sides of his face.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Wraith bursts into their storage room and softly closes the door, collapsing on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wrack their brain for an explanation of what that was, trying to remember anything from the books on healing they’ve read but they come up terrifyingly empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Useless, they are so useless. Can’t do anything right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith lets go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their body loses all of its tension as their mind leaves it. Wraith sees from above as their hand dips a finger into their dye pouch and with the bright red paste writes the words “make new armor”, “hide golden apples” and “make new bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On automatic, their body floats towards the chest. Wraith allows their vision to go blurry, idly listening to the clink of iron ingots dropping onto the crafting table and forming into armor. After thinking for a second, they make an armor stand too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The easy task is done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They float over to a contraption they made themselves: a press, gleaming iron gears keeping a heavy blackstone slab aloft. They slide a block of netherwart into the basin and crank a handle, the slab crushing the fungus. A thin stream of red liquid begins to drain from a small tube on the side of the press.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The repetitive motions allow Wraith to pull away from their body even more. They think of the things still to be done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they slowly pull closer into their body, they find they are stitching the leather casing of the new mattress shut, the dried netherwart serving as filling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An idea floats into their brain and Wraith quietly inspects it, before shoving it towards their body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It gets up and floats back into the living room, opening the door to find Tommy still shaking. The hopelessness they felt rises back to the surface, but when they are not in their body it sounds far away as if the dark thoughts are echoing out from the bottom of a cave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, what’s your... fav- favorite color?” Wraith says, the words coming out as if their mouth was full of cotton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy raises his face, the scratches sluggishly bleeding down his cheeks. “Re- red.” He grits out, before he goes back to shaking in a ball, gripping his hair so hard he rips out a few chunks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith nods and retreats back into the storage room. They take the bowl of red liquid pressed out of the netherwart and set it to boil in their distiller. The delicate glass tube captures the water evaporated from the liquid while leaving a red paste behind that can be used as a dye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have a double-chest full of dye already, so they leave the distiller to do its thing, taking out the appropriate amount of weepingworm silk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dying silk is another of those things that a crafting table can’t do, so Wraith drops a chunk of dye in a cauldron full of water and lets the silk soak in the color.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hiding the apples takes no more than a few seconds, mining a chunk of quartz near the ceiling and shoving a barrel in there before covering it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have to wait for the silk to color. Without a task to do, it gets harder and harder to stay out of their body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clothes. Tommy will need clothes... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wandering back out of the storage room, they see Tommy breathing calmer, eyes drooping with exhaustion, half-asleep on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hotall r’you?” asks Wraith, shaking their head before trying again. “How... tall are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“6’3’” answers Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith continues staring listlessly, an expression of light confusion dusting their features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you’re not American are you?” He laughs, sounding a little hysterical. “Pog. I’m 1,90 meters tall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith nods, going back into the storage room. After rooting around in it, they take out their dress, the lower half meant to hang to the floor and hide their lack of legs. They haven’t used this one in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take the white clothing and float back to Tommy’s bedside. “Yours,” Wraith says, laying the clothes on the bed before immediately going back to the storage room and to the new mattress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With dextrous fingers, they rip up the stitches, reaching over for more pieces of leather. Tommy is taller than Wraith first thought. He looked so small when sleeping…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith is thrust back onto their own body. The tingly feeling all over their skin leaves, allowing them to register the spikes of pain from where they’d accidentally stung themselves with the sewing needle. A headache blooms from their head and the pit of hopelessness opens back up in their chest, but at least they can still function.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, they go back to stuffing the mattress with more dried netherwart and stitching it shut, now the right length. They take a second, their head swimming with tiredness before they force themselves onto their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take out the sopping wet silk, now dyed a wonderful red color. Laying it over the mattress, they stitch the silk so it covers the leather. They can say by experience that sleeping on hot leather is not fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the bed finished, Wraith straightens up smiling, and takes it into their inventory. They walk out into the main room to find Tommy, asleep on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith closes the storage room door and immediately Tommy’s eyes burst open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Why the fuck would you give me a dress, I’m not a girl!” he says gesturing at his clothes. The dress sits just below their knee and it fits surprisingly well, with the exception of the parts that hang loose because of his malnutrition. Then again, that dress had been made with the thought of being as oversized as possible to hide things inside it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I know you’re not a girl. It’s– it’s just a dress,” answers Wraith, confused as to what the problem is. “I didn’t have anything else that would fit your shoulders. If you don’t like it you can give it back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” he spits back, a flicker of fear flashing through his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O...kay then?” responds Wraith. “Well, follow me. I have something to show you.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Tommy stands, his hands fisting the ends of the dress, trying and failing to knot it to make it a shirt. He can hear Wilbur and Techno’s voices making fun of him, calling him a “pretty princess.” He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes Wraith was a bit more like Dream and made punishments painful instead of embarrassing. This is almost as bad as that one time Dream made him go mining with a broken arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not going to complain. He already made the mistake of having a freak-out in front of Wraith, he’s not going to do anything else to make his punishment worse. He can picture Wraith coming back out of that room with a frilly skirt, saying how they have nothing else that would cover their legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mutely following them, Tommy thinks they’re going to the room Wraith spent most of the day in but instead, they head to the door directly beside it. Except it’s not really a door. It’s a shallow hole in the wall that is the right size for a door, a button on one of the sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith presses the button– </span>
  <em>
    <span>Willbur covering the walls in buttons, maniacal glee dripping from his eyes–</span>
  </em>
  <span> and pistons fire, the two blocks of quartz retreating to open up into–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a </span>
  <em>
    <span>farm?!?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes are wide, scanning the impossibly growing melons and carrots, a small grove of oak trees growing in a corner. “How do you have so much water in the Nether?</span>
  <em>
    <span> Holy shit is that a sugarcane pond?!?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” Wraith begins, a proud smile on their face. “The short answer? Two layers of obsidian, a layer of ice, and then another layer of obsidian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gapes even wider. The room could easily fit four Camarvans and not hit the walls or ceiling, flaming hotdog included. Stepping inside the room feels exactly like stepping outside the Nether, the cool air registering as </span>
  <em>
    <span>freezing</span>
  </em>
  <span> after being in the heat for so long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The long answer involves a lot of testing on how to replicate the temperature of the Overworld in the Nether,” answers Wraith, gesturing for him to follow. “Keeping water from evaporating spontaneously took me </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> to achieve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you just make a farm in the Overworld?” Tommy asks. “Don’t get me wrong, this is fucking impressive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... I don’t like the Overworld,” says Wraith, their voice somber. “Please don’t ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t ask, I won’t ask. Not a word from me,” backtracks Tommy, cursing himself for making them mad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyways, I was thinking of having you sleep in here?” says Wraith, gesturing at the middle of the tree grove. “The cool will do you good. I’m pretty sure you still have a fever and humans get heatstroke, right? Wait, are you human?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m– actually I don’t know for sure,” says Tommy, scratching his head. “Wilbur found me living in the woods, so I never knew who my parents were, but I haven’t grown fucking horns or something so I’m pretty sure I’m human.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. I don’t know my sow either,” responds Wraith. “But it’s pretty obvious what I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sow,” explains Wraith, setting down a few slabs of quartz. “It’s a piglin term for whoever fathered or birthed you. In the Piglin Tribes, they don’t really care who you were born from, aside from the obvious exceptions of if it affects your health or, you know, incest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” says Tommy, tiredly sitting on the grass floor, far too green to be in the Nether. “Are you part of a Tribe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bitter smile blooms on Wraith’s face. “They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>Piglin</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tribes, Tommy. What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shuts his mouth with a click. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith places a red mattress-looking thing on top of the quartz, making a bed. He just realizes that he’s been sleeping on a bed that didn’t catch fire. In the Nether. He’ll have to ask Wraith how they made it later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go. Your own bed” says Wraith before smiling tentatively. “I can finally sleep in my own bed again!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t answer, instead letting himself fall onto the bed. It’s faintly damp, the cool a relief on his flushed skin. The mattress is harder but springier than the wool ones he’s used to. The cloth covering it is the smoothest thing Tommy has ever touched in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even more than the expensive spider silk shirt he once stole from Eret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just– why the fuck are you doing this for some– some nobody like me?” he says, his hands curling into fists, his heart beating dangerously faster. “Why are you giving me all of this pity shit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not pity,” Wraith assures, reaching out a hand towards Tommy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a step back, suddenly hyperaware of the distance between him and the exits. “Then what is it?!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” says Wraith, taking a deep breath before looking Tommy right in the eyes. “I’m doing this because I wish someone had done this for me when I was your age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He searches their face, looking for lies and only finding honesty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Go to sleep, you look exhausted,” Wraith says, hugging their arms around their chest. “We’ll talk more later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, they leave.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For starters, I retconned a few things in the first chapter, mostly because I'm setting up a few arcs and dynamics, especially around the SBI. </p><p>I'm honestly struggling with balancing Tommy's characterization, trying to keep his devil-may-care attitude and twist it the way trauma would, but I'm honestly not a psychologist. </p><p>Speaking of not being a psychologist, I tried to write Wraith as having a dissociative disorder, but that's one mental illness I don't have. If anyone has dissociated/has this disorder, feel absolutely free to correct me. I *want* to be corrected on this.</p><p>I hope I've been making Wraith an interesting character! They genuinely want to help, but they have no idea how 90% of the time. They... also have a fair bit of trauma buried. </p><p>On another note, I genuinely enjoy thinking of the ways Nether mobs and hybrids would adapt and live to the conditions of the Nether. Coming up with legitimate uses for something as useless as a netherwart block was fun! That said, I sometimes worry the long descriptions of the process bore the readers, but then I remember the whole point of this story is to regain my love of writing for the sake of writing, so perish the thought!</p><p>That said, here’s my Discord server! https://discord.gg/P5TRZxn</p><p>And thanks for reading this chapter! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tubbo wakes up with paperwork stuck to his face and a crick in his neck from having fallen asleep at his desk again. He lifts his head, the paper floating onto the table, now completely unusable because of the dried drool distorting the ink. He groans, rubbing his eyes and grimacing at the taste in his mouth. When was the last time he brushed his teeth? Three, four days ago?</p><p>A knock comes from his door and Tubbo rushes to clean up his desk, hiding the ruined paperwork and trying to smooth out his presidential suit. Trying to untangle a knot of his hair from his horns, Tubbo says “come in!”</p><p>His heart stops when he sees the familiar white porcelain mask. </p><p>“Dream? What are you doing here?” asks Tubbo, his floppy goat ears folding back, his right hand dropping under his desk, ready to take out his sword from his inventory. </p><p>“Relax, Mr. President,” says Dream, holding his hands up in a show of goodwill. “I just came to talk about a mutual friend of ours in exile.”</p><p>“Wait, Tommy?” says Tubbo. “What happened?”</p><p>“Two days ago, he threw a tantrum and blew up the place he was staying at,” casually answers Dream. “And then he ran away.”</p><p>“What?!?” Panic fills Tubbo’s lungs. When he told Tommy not to become Wilbur, he didn’t mean it so literally! “Is he okay?!?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Dream answers and Tubbo wants to throttle him. Tommy could be in danger! “I’m not the one with the compass that points towards him.”</p><p>Tubbo blinks and then tugs out the silvery chain from under his coat, the compass dangling from it. The needle is spinning wildly out of control.</p><p>“No…” falls from Tubbo’s mouth. His hands begin to shake. </p><p>“Tubbo, Tubbo look at me.” A hand gently settles on Tubbo’s shoulder, and he looks up to find Dream, leaning down to be closer to his height. “Don’t panic, Tommy’s okay. He’s probably in the Nether… after I told him not to go there.”</p><p>The idea slowly registers in Tubbo’s brain and then he blushes furiously. “Sorry! Sorry, I’ve been a bit out of sorts lately and panicked.” Still, he’s relieved Dream managed to curb one of his panic-spirals.</p><p>“It’s okay, Tubbo,” Dream says and Tubbo can hear the smile in his voice. “Why don’t you come with me to the Nether hub? That way you can assure yourself that Tommy’s alright. Maybe even get a bit of sunlight. No offense, but you kind of look like shit.”</p><p>Tubbo softly laughs, sheepishly raking a hand through his hair. “The last few days have been <em> rough, </em> man. I’ll go with you. Fresh air will do me good, I think.”</p><p>With that, he stands from his desk, wincing at the number of pops his spine makes. His firework scars twinge, now that he hasn’t been taking care of them. </p><p>Walking out of the office is a little uncomfortable as he gets looks from people. He can’t really blame them; Dream, making awkward small talk with the President of the nation he once sought to destroy? Yeah, that wasn’t in Tubbo’s list of “things that could happen today.” But there he was!</p><p>When he exited the Capitol, he was greeted with the wooden streets of L’Manburg gently floating over the man-made lake. Tubbo smiled and stepped onto the bridges, giggling when Dream stumbled a few steps, unused to the movement of the walkway. </p><p>Tubbo breathed deeply, the scent of gunpowder slowly being overpowered by the freshwater mist of the lake day by day. He greeted his citizens as they passed by, their steps assured and balanced against the bobbing of the floating walkways, framed by the dark obsidian walls.</p><p>Dream was right, Tubbo thought. He was feeling more refreshed and awake than he had in days.</p><p>“I see the reconstruction’s going well,” Dream commented, looking at the new buildings with a curious tilt to his head.</p><p>“Yeah! I’m honestly <em> so </em> glad that everyone’s worked so hard to rebuild everything,” Tubbo said, his tail swinging with excitement. “We also have a few projects planned that are going to be amazing!”</p><p>“I look forward to seeing them,” Dream answered, hands in his pockets. By then they’d reached the Nether portal, so Dream gestured with one hand towards it. “After you.”</p><p>Tubbo nodded, stepping into the portal. It was always dizzying how the purple overtook his vision and left him disoriented. Still, he stepped in and was slapped by the heat of the Nether. Grimacing, Tubbo took off his suit jacket in an attempt to relieve the heat. It didn’t do much. </p><p>He couldn’t imagine Tommy staying more than a few hours in the Nether. A stab of guilt so strong he chokes on it burns through his chest. He blinks back the sudden tears and grits his jaw. Firmly, he takes the feelings, takes the thoughts, and shoves them to the back of his mind. </p><p>He didn’t need to break down now and he’d be damned if he let himself do so now. They weren’t at war, for Primes’ sake! It shouldn’t be so difficult to keep his emotions in check!</p><p>With the crackling of static, Dream steps out of the portal and Tubbo hurries to put on a relaxed and friendly mask. He’s had a<em> lot </em> of practice doing that lately. </p><p>He tugs out the compass again, and he almost collapses with relief at the little arrow pointing firmly west. Tubbo’s eyebrows raise sharply. That’s pretty far from the portal of Logstedshire, over the lava ocean. How’d he get so far so quickly?</p><p>“See? He’s fine,” says Dream, looking over Tubbo’s shoulder at the compass.</p><p>“Are you going to go after him?” quietly asks Tubbo.</p><p>“I’ll give him a few days to calm down,” assures Dream. “C’mon, let’s go back to L’Manburg. All this ash is going to make me smell like a chainsmoker.”</p><p>Tubbo nervously laughs, hoping that the pack of cigarettes hidden in his back pocket isn’t poking out. </p><p>Stepping back into the portal, Tubbo sighs in relief at the cool air. After being in the Nether, he can’t even smell the traces of gunpowder left in L’Manburg. He can look at the boulders still left, and the holes in the landscape and the oddly bent trees and convince himself it’s not that bad. At least not as bad as the Nether but then again, nothing really is. </p><p>“Thank you, Tubbo,” says Dream, ruffling Tubbo’s hair just like Tommy had– he cuts the thought off right there. “That reminds me, I should have done this earlier.”</p><p>Tubbo tilts his head, watching as Dream takes out his hands from his pockets and holds them out to the sides, almost as if he was going to begin a speech. Then his mask cracks, the dark rifts forming an X on his face, and Tubbo gasps suddenly in understanding.</p><p>Dream’s feet leave the floor to levitate in place, his body shifting into the darkness of space like someone deleted a part of the world in the vague shape of a person. His green cloak grows to float nearly to his feet, swaying in an unexisting breeze, golden symbols surfacing on the unnaturally smooth cloak only to sink inside the green and then surface again and again.</p><p>Stars visible through his hands, now proportioned too sharply to be human, begin to move, drawing shimmering green symbols in the air in the language of code, undecipherable to everyone but those with godly blood in their veins. </p><p>And then, the sound of thousands of blocks of obsidian fills the air like thunder, the tall obsidian walls around L’Manburg disintegrate in seconds, showering obsidian dust everywhere that disappears into nothingness too.</p><p>“T҉̨ḩ͝e͏r͘e̷͟,“ says Dream, his voice echoing like bells in a cathedral, before the black cracks seal in a green flash, and just like that, he returns to being human. No matter how many times he sees Dream use the power of the god he was a part of, it never becomes less startling. “I’ll be going now. Thanks for helping me, Tubbo.”</p><p>“No– no problem!” Tubbo answers, mind still reeling from the change as he looks over a newly wall-less L’Manburg.</p><p>“See you later,” Dream says, throwing a half-hearted salute as he leaves. </p><p>Tubbo watches him walk away, trying to distract himself from the quiet despair that threatens to choke him. Piles and piles of paperwork await him, alongside hours and hours of arguing with Quackity over new proposals only for everything he says to be ignored. </p><p>He’s just so tired. He wants to leave the stifling suit behind, run away to where Tommy is and join him. Exile sounds like a vacation, right about now. </p><p>Violently shaking his head, Tubbo chastises himself. He gave up his <em> best friend </em> for L’Manburg, the only way to make sure it wasn’t for nothing is if he <em> works </em> for it. And in any way, Tommy hates him now. He’d just scream at him to leave.</p><p>With his back bowed with exhaustion and stress lines that make him look years older, Tubbo sighs.</p><p>Maybe he could visit Phil for a bit...</p><hr/><p>Tommy grimaces at his reflection on the mirror Wraith lent him. </p><p>Patchy burn scars cover his entire body in random spots, some as small as marbles some as big as his entire hand. He’d have been just a human burn scar if it weren’t for the healing potions, but being half-charred doesn’t look any better.</p><p>There are two big scars on his face, one going from the back of his neck all the way to his cheekbones and forehead. His left ear is just… gone, only a few charred bumps remain around the hole. </p><p>The other scar goes from his collarbones and climbs to his jaw, ending just above the right corner of his lips. He tries to smile, but scars don’t really stretch, so he looks like one of those half-happy, half-sad drama masks. </p><p>He has a big scar on his left leg, covering all the way from his ankle to his knee, there are a few small ones dotting his right shoulder, there’s even a few on the bottom of his feet. He stops trying to take stock of how many there are. There are just too many.</p><p>Instead, he goes back to trying to tame his hair with his fingers. It’s grown past his ears, almost brushing against his collarbones. It’s been growing since Pogtopia, more because he forgot to cut it than wanting to have long hair. Pogtopia… Prime, how long ago was that? More than a year, he’s sure. </p><p>Tommy angrily blows a lock of hair away from his face. </p><p>Wraith clears their throat and lays a single leather hair tie on the table beside them. Without saying anything, they go back to brewing.</p><p>He hesitantly takes the tie, not saying anything in return, and begins tying it up. </p><p>After Wraith gifted him the bed, things have been a bit… odd? Not really odd, more like neither of them was used to talking about emotional shit, and Wraith offering that tiny bit of honest truth had both of them just… not talking about it. Tommy stopped rejecting their things, at least. It helped knowing it wasn’t from pity. </p><p>Still, Tommy was going a little fucking bonkers being stuck inside. He had already told off Wraith for not having cobblestone in their house for two hours straight, but they had the patience of a fucking saint and still forced Tommy to stay on bed rest. At least he had been allowed to use Wraith’s bed while they were working. </p><p>“I’m <em> bored </em>,” whines Tommy, flopping on the bed. “Hey, can I help with the potions?” </p><p>“No,” immediately answers Wraith. “No matter how good your brother was at them, I don’t trust you with them.”</p><p>Considering Tommy has accidentally broken four water bottles so far, that’s fair. It’s not his fault he keeps flinching at every noise, but he can’t help that.</p><p>He grumbles, loudly. “Come oooooon,” he complains, flopping down on the bed, his burns twinging a little. “I want to do <em> something </em>.”</p><p>Wraith doesn’t answer, reaching over to their enderchest to take out a bucket of milk and putting it near the counter. </p><p>Tommy stares at the chest for a second, the purple particles floating around it, and without his input, he says “Hey, can I play some music?” </p><p>Wraith stops, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Sure.”</p><p>He walks over to the enderchest, opening the latch. Inside, there is a starry void where his items float. He plunges his hand into the cold space, pulling out the jukebox. Then he pauses, looking at the four discs inside his chest.</p><p>He takes his time, running his hands over the grooves, recalling the melodies in his head. Tubbo would sometimes tease him about how much he took to choose which disc to play or how he would listen to a disc non-stop one day and then refuse to even hear the intro notes the next.</p><p>But there is a reason, Tommy thinks, as he picks Chirp and lets it fall into the slot.</p><p>Soon, the melody starts, calm and echoey. He closes his eyes and the images of snow and a cozy cottage drift onto his mind. The scent of blue and sheep wool fills his senses, phantom hay scratching up his legs. Contentment rises in his chest, filled with an undercurrent of sadness buried so deep it’s almost not there.</p><p>“Hi Ghostbur,” Tommy whispers.</p><p>The music responds, happily crescendoing before drifting back into contentment. The sound of plowing fields and the flap of wings echo from the depths of the disc. </p><p>“You’re staying with Techno and Phil?” he whispers, a pit of bitterness opening in his chest. The answering cheery notes make Tommy’s fists curl. </p><p>Still, the disk continues flitting with the thoughts flying through Ghostbur’s head. The phantom sensation of petting Friend makes Tommy relax. He still doesn’t like how far-away the music sounds ever since Wilbur died. </p><p>He wishes he still had Cat. Cat had always sounded like Tubbo.</p><p>Tommy looks up to see Wraith looking at him strangely. He just flips them off and walks back to the bed, ignoring how the tips of his ears are definitely red. Ear. The tip of his only ear. That’s going to be a fucking trip to get used to. </p><p>Instead, he goes back to bed, the exhaustion that’s become his new normal since exile making his limbs heavy. He closes his eyes, listening to Ghostbur from the notes of Chirp.</p><hr/><p>Phil shakes snow off his wings as he enters Techno’s small cottage, hurrying to close the door as the blizzard intensifies. </p><p>His hands shake, his ears and cheeks numb. He’s used to the cold, but he thought the weather would be fine to go without his heavy winter cloak for a bit. He was wrong, but the thought of going into the nether with such heavy clothing is tantamount to suicide.</p><p>Heavy steps come from the second floor and Techno descends the stairs. His pink hair is in a messy braid in the process of falling apart, while there are a few lapis stains on his fingers. </p><p>“Did you find ‘im?” asks Techno, shaking out his hands.</p><p>“No,” sighs Phil, taking off his striped bucket hat and running a hand through his blond hair. “He went into the nether and after a point, his footsteps just end. I’m thinking he took a fire-resistance pot and swam in the lava.”</p><p>“That’s gonna make finding him a pain,” grunts Techno, tugging off his crown and undoing his braid. </p><p>With a small smile, Phil moves to the couch, and with a short few flaps of his wings, he perches on the armrest. "Where's Ghostbur?"</p><p>“In the barn,” says Techno, plopping himself down heavily on the couch. "Please don’t leave feathers all over the floor again."</p><p>“Can’t help the feathers, mate,” says Phil, taking the brush from the bedside table and combing through the tangles on Techno’s hair. “But I’ll try.”</p><p>Techno grumbles in protest, but his shoulders are already beginning to relax. “Why are you goin’ after Tommy? He made it clear he didn’t want to see you.”</p><p>Phil sighs, his wings drooping. “Techno, you can’t keep being mad at your brother.”</p><p>“He betrayed me, Phil! And he isn’t my brother! I barely know him!”</p><p>A pang of regret makes Phil stop his brushing. Techno’s not really lying; Wilbur was the one that found Tommy alone in the forest, Wilbur was the one that convinced Phil to let Tommy stay, Wilbur was the one that took care of Tommy when both Phil and Techno left in search of new lands and adventure.</p><p>At the time he’d thought Wilbur had been capable enough to take care of Tommy, but now, after having put a sword through his only biological son, he realized he had made a mistake. He’d forgotten how it was to be young and left a seventeen-year-old to parent a practically feral eleven-year-old alone.</p><p>Techno had spent almost two years with his brothers before being away for five.</p><p>“...He may not be your brother, Techno, but he’s still my son, just like you are,” Phil answers, starting to brush the pink hair again. “I want him safe, and staying for so long in the nether is not safe.”</p><p>Techno sighs, but he doesn’t complain further. “Are you going back to L’Manburg soon?”</p><p>“Not until Tommy’s found, at least,” answers Phil, setting the brush aside and dividing Techno’s rosy mane in three. “I might go visit for a few days. Tubbo’s struggling with being President quite a bit, and he’ll want news of how my search is going.”</p><p>“Fuck the government, Phil,” grumbles Techno, but there are rumbles deep inside his chest that tell Phil he’s comfortable and warm, close to falling asleep. “It only makes things worse.”</p><p>“That it does,” agrees Phil, finishing the braid with a golden hair tie. “That it does.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am unnaturally motivated for this story what the hell. Anyways! Here we introduce the *plot*! And introducing multiple characters into the action too! Things are finally lifting off! </p><p>I have sooooo much worldbuilding centered around the gods of the SMP. I hope you guys liked Dream's godly design! And yes, Dream and DreamXD are different entities in this fic.</p><p>Also I enjoyed giving Tommy a reason to love the discs so much and give him some mental fuckery to go with Techno's voices and Phil's crows. </p><p>Thank you so much for reading!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING! If you have something against worms or being forced to vomit, please skip parts of this chapter! </p><p>Worms: skip from “Dig in,” until “Wraith is munching on the last of their mushrooms, before biting the stick they were impaled on.“</p><p>Forced vomit: skip from “Even if you already ate it–” until “You must be hungry.”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“C’mon, c’mon,” mutters Tommy, hitting the obsidian as hard as he can with his iron pick. He strains his hearing for the sound of Wraith coming back in and dumping their tools on the table, but the strike of metal drowns almost everything. He glances back to the oak tree he just replanted, mentally willing it to grow faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have gotten bone meal while he had the chance. Fuck, he’s going to get caught and it’ll be just like– </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind skips over that like the needle of a jukebox over a scratched disc, his hands hitting the obsidian harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid– fucking– obsidian!” he grits out, watching as the cracks in it get wider and it begins bleeding that weird purple liquid. “Break already, bitch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It finally cracks, falling into useless chunks the size of his fist, and he shovels them out with his hands until he has barely enough space to shove a chest in there. He strains his hearing again… nothing, just the bubbling of lava and the flying sparks always in the nether. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches into his inventory to grasp the three apples that he’d managed to get from the tree and throws them into the chest. Then, he takes the five gold blocks he’d stolen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a fucking surprise to go into Wraith’s storage room to find a double-chest almost full to the brim with gold </span>
  <em>
    <span>blocks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not even ingots, just obscene amounts of gold blocks. Why the fuck would they have so much gold, Tommy had no idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then shoves a few strips of dried pork into the chest he’d been saving from the meals he’d been getting, a few water bottles, some bandages, a brewing stand he’d just made along with ingredients for healing pots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wracks his brain for anything else to put in it but he can’t fucking think so he just closes the chest and buries it under the dirt, patting it down until it looks indistinguishable from the rest of the dirt in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands, breathing quietly. “He didn’t find your chest under the tree,” he reminds himself. “It was the only fucking thing he didn’t find, you can do this, you can keep this a secret, you can–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His resolve breaks and he digs the chest back up, he’s about to dump the contents out when the shine of gold catches his eye and he finds himself grabbing one of the fresh apples and a gold block and running towards his crafting table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making a golden apple takes only a second, placing the ingots and apple in the correct places of the crafting table before he takes a big bite and swallows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The effect is immediate, the regeneration of the apple dulling the constant low pain in his feet and back, the absorption settling over him like a comfortable blanket. He smiles, his hands steady and confident for the first time in forever. Golden apples are </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span> how had he not noticed that before?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his back straight and steps certain, Tommy places the leftover gold ingot in the chest and closes the lid, burying the chest back up and smoothing the dirt in a much better way than the piss-poor job he’d done before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a spring in his step, he stands up and walks towards his iron hoe. He swings it a few times as if it was a sword like he used to do when he was a kid before Phil gave the okay to start his fighting lessons, and laughs, the sound so foreign he startles himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands still, blinking, heart racing, before he laughs again at himself and walks over to the watermelons growing in neat rows. He gets to work, using the hoe to snap the stem of the watermelons and picking them up to pile them in a corner of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be honest, the work hurts and he’s tired minutes into harvesting, but he likes this kind of stuff. Not really farming, that was more Techno’s thing, but being </span>
  <em>
    <span>useful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This way staying with Wraith feels less like pity and more like he’s just renting a room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, yeah! He’s just renting a room in the Wraith Hotel until he’s healed and then he’ll go back to L’Manburg! If… if they want him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile on Tommy’s face dims.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they want him back! He’s Tommy Innit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> big man, he’ll walk in the door and–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s never been good at plans, why the fuck is he trying to make one now? He’ll wing it like he always does and everything will be fine! He </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be fine. He’ll figure something out, everything will be fine–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His absorption runs out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He suddenly becomes aware that his back is facing the door. Fumbling with his hoe, Tommy turns around so he can keep the door in his sights and goes back to harvesting watermelons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just think about harvesting. Only about harvesting. Maybe Wraith will agree to lend him the diamond pickaxe to go mining if he gives them enough stuff. He wants strong armor, not the iron he’s stuck with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s harvesting the sugar cane when Wraith’s voice comes from the central room. “Tommy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over here!” he calls back, using the hoe to break sugar cane and using one of the long leaves on it to tie it together into a small bundle, piling it up with the rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith pushes the button (</span>
  <em>
    <span>blackstone walls surround him, Eret’s white eyes scrunching up in triumph, “it was never meant to be”)</span>
  </em>
  <span> and enters into the small obsidian-walled garden, a leather satchel slung over their shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands begin shaking again and he hides them behind his back. His breathing gets faster but he’s not going to have another fucking meltdown so he grips the hoe tighter and ignores how sweaty and overheated he suddenly feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s thoughts all turn to the small patch of dirt where his hidden chest is. He wants another golden apple so goddam badly but he forces his eyes to follow Wraith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They seem concerned to see him standing, but then their eyes catch the pile of fruit and vegetables and their eyes widen with surprise. Tommy also notes how their short hair-tentacles spread wider in surprise too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you do that?” they ask, looking from him to the harvest. “And you feel okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands are shaking and his heart is racing, his muscles are crying out in pain and new blisters are forming on his hands. He feels as if he’d been sparring for </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> even though he knows it couldn’t have been that long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he answers instead, trying to sound as intimidating as possible. “This is my payment for letting me stay. I don’t owe you </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, okay?.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They open and close their mouth a few times, before answering: “Alright.” They float closer to the harvest and Tommy moves away, out of reach from them. “You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea how much this helps me. I’ve been stressing out for days over my potion batches being late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They smile, taking the things into their inventory, before looking at Tommy. “You want to come with me? I’m preparing some food and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>need to eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shrugs and then gets stuck in an awkward staring contest with Wraith, neither of them moving. Wraith finally takes the lead and gets out of the room first and Tommy follows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith goes to the kitchen part of the main room and takes out a long weeping vine from a boiling cauldron, before peeling the red… well, Tommy guesses it would be like the skin of the plant but it looks more like a mess of string? Then, they sprinkle a bunch of powders on the plant, then put the weeping vine on the grill and Tommy watches it as it fizzles, a disconcertingly meat-like smell coming from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vaguely remembering where the cutlery is, Tommy rummages in the cabinets below the smooth quartz kitchen countertop and takes out the only two sets of the wooden utensils. He places them on the table and then sits on one of the two seats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches as Wraith takes the carrots and cuts them up, cutting a few mushrooms too before taking the sugarcane and peeling it, cutting the core of it into sticks before using them to impale the carrots and mushrooms, setting them to grill beside the weeping vine and sprinkling them with more powders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, they take some of the watermelons and make juice with them, finishing just in time to take the vine and vegetables out of the grill, placing them on Tommy’s plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dig in,” Wraith says, setting a glass of juice in front of Tommy, before starting to eat from their own food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy first pokes the vine with his fork, before cutting a small chunk of it and biting. “What the fuck? It tastes like meat!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is meat,” Wraith answers, taking a bite out of their own vine. “These are weeping worms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They look like plants, but they’re actually worms. It’s an easy mistake to make, but the real weeping vines aren’t edible–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gags, unable to keep looking at his plate. He just ate a fucking worm thicker than a fucking eyeball, what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t want to eat it, you don’t have to,” Wraith says, but their head-tentacles are swaying more agitatedly and their lips are pursed in frustration, their hand extending towards Tommy’s plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tommy shouts, quickly snatching the plate away before Wraith can take it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shout makes Wraith take their hand away as if it had been burned. “... I won’t take it away, then,” they say glancing at Tommy, before saying so quietly it’s almost a whisper: “I know what it’s like to starve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith begins eating again, both of them stuck in awkward silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy decides to take a few bites of mushroom and carrot. It is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Actually, Niki’s pastries might have them beat but he’s been fucking starving for two months. His shitty attempts at roasted chicken would probably taste like heaven about now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then looks at the grilled worm. He doesn’t want to do this, but Wraith had sounded annoyed at him for not eating the worm, and the longer he doesn’t eat it, the more panic-fueled static creeps upon his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With apprehension, he cuts another small chunk and spears it on his fork. He closes his eyes and takes a bite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It… doesn’t taste bad. If he didn’t know it was a worm, he’d have a hard time telling it apart from a sausage. It has some weird earthy undertone and it’s a little softer than regular meat, but it is… kind of good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith is munching on the last of their mushrooms, before biting the stick they were impaled on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stares, but then Wraith notices and takes the stick out of their mouth. “Have you never eaten sugar cane before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can eat it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes and no,” they answer. “Just bite the sugar cane and drink the juice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> swallow the wood part. And be careful with splinters!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks at part of the stick free of vegetables and shrugs before biting down. A burst of sweetness spreads through his tongue and drips down the sides of his mouth. A pleased gasp escapes him before he bites again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He imagines telling Tubbo about this, giving him a stick and eating until they’re buzzing around with the sugar high, their sticky hands trying to steal each other’s leftover sugar cane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He smiles, but a pit of homesickness robs him of the last of his appetite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s barely eaten half his meal but his stomach is full to bursting. He can’t eat another bite. Any more and he'll throw up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith has already finished, idly biting their stick while they quickly dunk the blackstone plate in the lava cauldron to clean it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy has the impulse to hide the rest of his food, but his hastily-made shorts don’t have any pockets and it’d be painfully obvious if he hid it in his shirt. Wraith turns around and sees his plate before he has the opportunity to think of anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re full?” asks Wraith, before slapping a hand to their forehead. “I am an </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m supposed to be giving you smaller portions! I completely forgot!” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(“Even if you already ate it–” says Dream, twirling Tommy’s stone sword in his hands. “You know all gifts have to be inspected by me, right?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How the fuck are you going to do that–”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dream hits him in the stomach with the sword’s blunt side, making him double over, and grabs his hair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy opens his mouth to scream before the handle of his sword is shoved deep into his mouth, forcing him to choke and gag and vomit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bad’s gift of cooked chicken splats onto the bottom of the hole over his set of armor, and through blurry eyes he sees Dream toss the stone sword into the hole too, throwing a stick of dynamite after it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He flinches back at the sound of the explosion.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come on, your breath stinks. I have some water I can give you,” Dream says, gently helping Tommy to his feet. “I also have some cake, if you want it. You must be hungry.”</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“–ommy? Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Wraith says, handing him a piece of cloth. “Wrap your food in this and you can take it to the greenhouse. This should be enough for your dinner, I think? Neethel didn’t tell me how big the portions should be aside from ‘small’ so–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy takes the cloth and shoves the food inside, bunching it up before breaking into a sprint to the greenhouse, punching the button to open up the door. He sprints to his patch of dirt and roughly digs up the chest, grabbing a handful of gold blocks and an apple, almost eating the gapple off the crafting table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the absorption is not enough. He still has the phantom taste of vomit on his mouth and his stomach is rebelling against himself and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t fucking breathe–</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dream sits at the tip of an obsidian spire, idly throwing an ender pearl up and down. </span>
  <span>Through the mirage the rising hot air creates, he watches the doorway hidden high up in the netherrack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder Tommy hadn’t come back! He’d found an unlikely ally to protect him from the big bad Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, his smile widening behind his mask. </span>
  <span>He’d been surprised when he couldn’t recognize whoever floated down from the entrance. They were clearly part human, but they hadn’t been anyone Dream knew or whitelisted. </span>
  <span>It was <em>his</em> SMP they were in, he should have been notified if someone entered, just like the first time Schlatt snuck in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, they were there, obliviously harvesting blocks of netherwart from the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only logical explanation would be that they were living in the Nether since before he claimed the area of the Greater Dream SMP as his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a ridiculous notion. Not even SapNap would have been able to survive the Nether without Bad’s care. But here they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, this situation has certainly allowed him to tie two loose ends.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Wraith finishes corking the last of the potions they need just as a knock sounds on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They freeze. Never, not once in their life, has anyone knocked on Wraith’s door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lunge for their leather satchel, quickly retrieving two powerful splash potions of harming, holding them in their hand. With careful steps they near the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith takes a deep breath before yanking the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no one there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand confused at the entrance until they glance down. There’s a metallic... thing the size of their forearm, sleek and technological. Wraith picks it up, turning it around to find a cracked glass screen. Frowning, they go back inside and close the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?” calls Wraith, before pushing the button and heading into the greenhouse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” He says, sleepily lifting his head from the bed. His eyes are red and puffy, but Wraith knows better than to ask if he was crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what this is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my communicator,” he says, suddenly looking wide awake. “Where did you find it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Outside the front door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy takes it from Wraith’s hands as if it was going to explode at any moment. He taps at the screen and Wraith drifts closer in interest when the screen lights up. The screen reads: ‘You left this - :)’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The communicator slips through Tommy’s fingers and falls to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, what’s wrong?” Wraith asks, looking at how his face pales. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He found me,” he says in a horrified whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith receives no answer as Tommy throws himself to the ground and starts digging with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the- what are you doing?” asks Wraith, until they see the chest buried inside. “Did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>break my floor</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t answer, instead of dumping all of the contents of the chest into his inventory and sprinting out the door. Or at least he tries, because Wraith floats into the middle of his path, arms spread wide. “Tommy, stop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out of my way, bitch!” he snarls, summoning his iron sword from his inventory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will! I will move aside, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> explain what’s going on,” Wraith says, keeping the iron sword always in their sights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy keeps looking at them, nervous energy vibrating in his body, and Wraith finds the whole situation eerily similar to facing down a Hoglin near the warped forest, never knowing if their fear is going to win over their aggression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, what is there to explain? Dream found me, and I should go back to him before he–” he catches himself, his brows furrowing. “No! I shouldn’t go back, he’s a shitty friend. But he’ll probably make things worse if I don’t–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is Dream?” asks Wraith, trying to distract Tommy from his confusion. “Isn’t he the one who hurt you? Why are you calling him a friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did hurt me, but it was for my own good. He’s the only one that cared,” answers Tommy, but something about his answer rubs Wraith the wrong way. Maybe the way it sounds practiced?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… don’t think friends are supposed to hurt you,” carefully says Wraith, their hand sneaking over to their splash potion of weakness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what is he?” asks Tommy, finally lowering his sword, frowning at the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith waits with bated breath as Tommy thinks, a hundred different emotions passing through his face that they can’t even begin to recognize. But then his eyes widen with an epiphany and Wraith gets ready to run or fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was there to watch me,” he says, a spark that had been absent lighting in his eyes. Huh. Wraith thought his eyes were gray, but there’s a light dusting of blue that hadn’t been there before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are you going to do?” asks Wraith, marginally calmer since Tommy doesn’t seem to be fighting himself anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t fucking know, but one thing’s for sure,” he says, his voice certain. “I’m not going back to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh, good thing you figured that out,” says Wraith, mystified at the weirdness of the whole situation. “If you’re going to run from him, why don’t you come with me to the Crimson Tribe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this a pity thing?” angrily asks Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” hurries to clarify Wraith. “I was planning to go there anyway to sell my potions. And I’m not staying here if the house is being watched by someone capable of hurting a </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m not a kid!” Tommy protests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not? But Neethel said– Nevermind,” Wraith shakes their head. “We are leaving right now. Tommy take your bed with you and hide the entrance to the greenhouse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an objective to do, Wraith is calmer. The first things to go into their inventory are the usuals: food for the road, their only diamond pickaxe, materials for shelter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest isn’t: their brewing stands, the cauldron, the grill, all of their valuables. Soon, their inventory and enderchest are full to the brim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m done,” says Tommy, coming into the main room. Wraith glances behind their shoulder to see the greenhouse perfectly hidden behind two blocks of quartz. Tommy even knew to take away the water so the sound wouldn’t give the room away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, follow me,” Wraith says and both of them hurry to the storage room. “Please help me with this. Take as much as you can with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re trusting me with this?” he says, looking at the sheer amount of gold in the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m taking you with me, aren’t I?” answers Wraith, smiling softly before digging into another chest for their spare set of armor and hurriedly strapping it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they turn back, Tommy has already put on his own armor and the gold chest has only a few stacks left in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, we can’t go out the front door,” says Wraith, gesturing with a hand for Tommy to follow them. “I have another way out but you’ll have to crawl a bit at the end.” Wraith comes to a stop where the grill and cauldron full of lava used to be, right under the chimney. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me your hands and don’t let go, we’re flying out of here,” says Wraith, extending their hands towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy takes the hands in a death grip, making his skin just as pale as Wraith’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith begins floating up the chimney, the space just barely wide enough for one person, Tommy hanging from their hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they float up and up until the tunnel begins to slant to the right, until Wraith’s forced to put his hands on the netherrack and let go, floating ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They float out the chimney to the crimson forest stretching on for miles under them, the red particles of the nether floating around in mesmerizing dances, a living spectacle the color of freshly spilled blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning around, Wraith makes a little netherrack platform just in time for Tommy to crawl out, covered top-to-bottom in soot and charcoal dust, coughing and hacking, but alive in a way they hadn’t seen from the start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They grin at each other, shaky from adrenaline but determined, and make their way down to the forest below.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Writer struggles: frantically googling “how does grilled worm taste” and not finding a satisfying answer because there aren’t edible worms the thickness of a human wrist. </p><p>Also, researching for this? I did not know what refeeding syndrome was and now I do and it is fucking terrifying. Imagine that, not being able to much eat after starving because it could literally kill you. And you have food in front of you. That’s just straight-up Tantalus’s torture with a twist.</p><p>In another note, eating sugar cane? Delicious. My mother lived in the middle of a sugar cane plantation and once took us there and taught us how to eat it. The sheer amount of cane we ate was ridiculous and I’m still in awe of the sugar rush that followed because, keep in mind that sugar cane juice is just water and sugar. It was worth it though. Would do it again.</p><p>Next chapter we meet the Crimson Tribe!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy swears quietly, trying to plaster himself over the red trunk of a Crimson Shroom, hearing clops of hooves over the Nylium pass by, the loud swine exhales creeping closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so fucking glad he learned how to be quiet during exile. Hunting food back then was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much easier than trying to sneak around the hordes upon hordes of Hoglins wandering around the forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith gestures to him, a piece of netherrack in their hand. ‘Follow me’ Wraith mouths, before throwing the netherrack as far as they can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With practice born out hundreds of pranks, Tommy breaks into a run the second the netherrack piece hits the branches of a nearby tree. Wraith follows behind him, but soon Tommy’s gaining ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the– run faster!” he screams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t float any faster!” they scream back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hoglin grunts start to get louder again and Tommy panics, turning around to run again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels a tug in his stupidly long shirt (it’s not a fucking dress, okay?!?) but he doesn’t stop running, instead screaming his head off as he hears the stampede of Hoglins squeal bloody murder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“THERE’S A LAVA RAVINE TO OUR LEFT!” screams Wraith, looking like a kite flying behind Tommy, holding on by the end of Tommy’s dre– shirt! “GO THERE!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“AAAAAAAAAA,” Tommy answers, running in that direction, the edge of the ravine growing closer. And then a Hoglin’s tusks catch his back and send him flying through the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s yanked to a stop in the air, the edge of his shirt digging into his throat as he dangles from it, Wraith struggling to keep both of them aloft. There’s a tense, infinite moment as he slowly slips from his shirt, the heat of the lava below him scratching at his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Tommy’s dumped on the other side of the ravine, the Hoglins snorting violently from their side. Fuck, now he’s full of netherrack dust, great. Wraith crashes to the ground beside Tommy, panting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have floated so much yesterday,” groans Wraith, reaching into their inventory and taking out a bucket of lava, and then proceeds to drink it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Tommy, looking as Wraith takes another long gulp of lava.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to drink it,” explains Wraith. “Ghasts eat lava, and I need it to feed my ghast abilities like my floating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you were so slow?” says Tommy, shrugging off the weirdness of watching someone drink lava. He’d watched Phil instinctively try to preen them even if none of them had feathers, multiple times. He could deal with some weirdness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, my floating only has one speed which is slower than walking. We’ve just never had to run,” says Wraith before finishing the rest of the lava in one long gulp.”Urgh. I think if we have to run again, you’ll have to drag me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ll be like a fucking balloon, great,” answers Tommy, standing up and dusting himself off as best he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably set up camp,” says Wraith, lifting off the floor. “We’re tired enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, my sleep schedule is fucked anyways,” grumbles Tommy. “How do we do that anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wall over there looks promising,” says Wraith, floating over to the red outcropping, mining the netherrack, and swatting at the nylium roots so they stay out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hole Wraith makes is barely big enough to lay both their beds down, lit by a single soul-fire torch. It was just a temporary shelter, but Tommy couldn’t help the cold dread that runs through his veins at the idea of staying in a place so small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you coming?” says Wraith, placing their bed down and unhooking the leather satchel from their shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, don’t be a fucking pussy,” muttered Tommy under his breath, a habit he’d picked up from exile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With shoulders in a rigid line, Tommy walks into the small shelter and lays down his bed, carefully ignoring how his heartbeat was starting to pick up. He plopped his bed down, as close to the exit as he could get it, with more force than necessary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lets himself fall onto the soft mattress and takes off his boots, massaging his feet with a grimace. He has a few blisters here and there, but his feet hurt in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>strangest</span>
  </em>
  <span> of places. The soles he can understand, but why the hell would the skin at the base of his toenails hurt?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have traveled for four hours, give or take,” said Wraith, consulting their shiny pocket watch. “So we’re past the half-way point. We should be arriving soon if we keep this pace up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Wraith blocks the entrance with more Netherrack, sinking them into darkness broken only by the eerie, flickering blue fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold static climbs into Tommy’s head, his mind screaming about being in a cage, being trapped, he needs air</span>
  <em>
    <span>, he needs air.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?” says Wraith, mouth half-full with food. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” he almost growls, but his voice cracks at the last second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith doesn’t answer, instead looking at Tommy with barely concealed panic. “Uh, are you going to start shaky-breathing again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t answer, instead trying to convince his stupid chest from </span>
  <em>
    <span>imploding what the fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He digs his nails into his scalp, finding the edges of wounds and tearing them open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, bloody Lord,” exhales Wraith in a panicky whisper. “Oh, uh. Music! Music calms you down right? Do you want your jukebox?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy weakly nods, and Wraith places down the enderchest. With numb, clumsy fingers he pulls out the jukebox and places it down, not pausing to search for a disk before slotting it in, gripping the wood of the box as hard as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twinkling notes of Far bloom into being the way snowflakes land on the ground, softly and calmly. The sound of cold air rushing by fills his senses, the feeling of being free invading his mind. Bittersweet anger sours in Tommy’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s playing Far, his “father’s” disk. His thoughts on it had always been complicated. Every time he played it he was reminded his father had better things to do than pay attention to him, concentrated on whatever project had caught his fancy. Sometime’s he’d scream at the disk for hours, trying to drown out the notes with the insults he never had the courage to tell Philza. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other times, like now, he was lucky. Phil is flying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phantom wings beating over strong currents, eyes sharper than a human’s scanning the horizon. Trees and rivers and mountains passed by faster than he could ever hope to go, becoming nothing but tiny blurs. He could </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste</span>
  </em>
  <span> the freedom. It felt addictive. It felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He could almost pretend it was him, high up in the skies where nobody could touch him, where his racing heartbeat because of the adrenaline and not fear. The wind ruffling his feathers as he soared on the currents, giving a piercing screech before folding his wings into a dive, eyes trained on his prey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely felt it when Wraith lifts him from where he’d leaned against the jukebox and instead placed him on his bed, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Wraith had been anxiously waiting for Tommy to wake up for </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. They’d re-checked the route several times, cooked some food, opened their hiding place, mended some clothes they had been putting off for months now and Tommy still wasn’t awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, they didn’t know if Tommy waking would be good or not, they kind of wanted to procrastinate on talking to him a bit more, but after yesterday this really couldn’t go on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith had been debating the pros and cons of poking Tommy with a stick until he woke up when he stirred with a groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi! I made uh, breakfast? Is breakfast what you eat in the morning or what you eat after you wake up? I never knew the difference, um.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just– just spit it out already,” sighed Tommy, blearily taking his unfinished mushrooms-and-carrot-on-a-sugarcane-stick and biting into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... we need to talk about those, shivery-breath things,” says Wraith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stiffens but he doesn’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to tell me about why, I just need to know what to do,” explains Wraith, taking their bed back into their inventory. “And what things get you like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes an angry bite out of his food and Wraith internally grimaces. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> should have talked to more people and maybe they would have half a clue on how not to mess this up. Right, uh. Piglin principles have always worked, right? So give and take in kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it makes you feel better I can tell you about my floating?” Wraith then realizes their mistake and hurries to correct it. “Not my literal floating! That’s another thing entirely. I mean that sometimes I kind of… leave my body? I feel like I’m watching myself from above and I can’t feel much of anything. It’s like I’m a ghost. Or a specter! I’m ‘spectating’ myself, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” says Tommy, but at least he doesn’t look as angry and defensive anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is,” agrees Wraith. “I get like that whenever things get too much. Too many… hateful thoughts, I guess? And uh… the sound of nether portals. Sheep being hurt. The smell in the Overworld after it rains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a second of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sometimes freak out for no fucking reason,” says Tommy, bunching his hands in the extra fabric of his shirt. “Can’t breathe when that happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then clears his throat, uncomfortably looking at the walls, and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t like small spaces. And explosions. Water on– on my face. Don’t touch my hair or make me give up my stuff. And… buttons. The sound of a button getting pushed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” nods Wraith. There are a few seconds where they both fidget in place. “We should get going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Tommy puts his stuff back into his inventory and both of them walk out of their hiding place. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Wraith spies the tops of the tents and can’t help the smile that bursts on their face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wraith! Good hunting!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>greets one of the tribe’s piglin, gold axe slung over one shoulder and a Hoglin corpse on the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lethi! Good hunting to you as well!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> they greet back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I wasn’t expecting you for a while now,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lethi comments, readjusting the corpse over their shoulder. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>And who is this?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is Tommy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>explains Wraith gesturing to him, who tenses his shoulders. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I rescued him from some lava and now he’s staying with me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lethi stares at Tommy, their snout twitching and inhaling deeply. Piglins’ sense of smell is a hundred times better than their vision, and Wraith wonders what Lethi finds out with it. Tommy looks ready to bolt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alright, I ain’t gonna stop ya,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lethi finally says, shrugging. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But you better talk to Matee about this.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>answers Wraith, releasing a sigh of relief they didn’t even know they were holding. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you returning to the village?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That I am,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>they answer, hoisting the golden axe over their shoulder, the golden bangles around their tusks glinting in the low light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll accompany you, then!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lethi smiles, their ears flicking in amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on Tommy, the Tribe should be just up ahead!” says Wraith, floating before the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From time to time, Wraith turns back around to see Lethi trying to talk to Tommy in broken Common, the human trying to figure out what the piglin is saying through the grunty pronunciation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lethi is one of the more outsider-friendly members of the Tribe and they had always been a sucker for children, so it’s not a surprise that they are slowly chipping away at Tommy’s hesitance, with the younger even daring to correct a few phrases.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the tops of the tents peek into view, the carved wood and patterned cloth breaking through the red vegetation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, look!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops his fruitless attempts to get Lethi to say “pogchamp” to face the Tribe, and his jaw falls open, eyes widening as he steps into the border of the town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith smiles at him, nostalgia flooding. They face the Tribe, looking at the collection of structures with the eyes of their younger self, like the first time they’d reached this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tents, big enough to allow five people to stand inside comfortably, dot the clearing in small clusters. The cloth they are made out of are works of art, the simple but sturdy weeping worm silk lovingly hand-painted by each of their occupants in unique designs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Small piglin children run around chasing each other while dodging the adults going around their daily business, the soft grunts and squeals of their conversations creating a chaotic melody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One building, off in the distance, stands out starkly as comprised of blackstone and nether bricks, a column of dark smoke making its way out the top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha– How have I never seen this before?” asks Tommy, gaping at the fluttering settlement. “There are so many people here, what the hell!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s because they move every time someone untrusted finds this place,” explains Wraith, gesturing for Tommy to follow them deeper into the settlement, while Lethi drifts away from them and into the crowd. “Humans usually steal and kill everything, so after Overworlders came here to the Nether, most Tribes decided they’d rather always move than die. Except for the Bastion Tribe, but they are a very stubborn exception.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks like he’s half-listening, looking at a pair of piglins as they unravel the silk from weepingworms floating in a barrel of water, chatting softly. The piglins stop as soon as they catch Tommy’s gaze, following him with their eyes. More and more piglins cease talking, looking with distrust at Tommy, pausing in their tasks, rushing to get the children back inside. Wraith doesn’t blame them. The Tribe has survived this long by not trusting humans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy notices the hostile looks and steps closer to Wraith, nervously glancing around for exits, curling his hand in a way that means he’s very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> close to summoning his sword. Wraith wishes they could float faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, Matee’s tent comes into view. Wraith recognizes it by the many colors that dot the fabric; most tents are made of red cloth with white bone dye gently tracing the drawings, but Matee’s has a few spots of bright blue and delicate purple and even the ever-rare black dye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just before the entrance, Wraith takes Tommy to the side and turns to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, I need you to listen to me,” Wraith says, waiting until they’ve captured all of his attention. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>please don’t steal anything, don’t burn anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face falls, looking to the side like a toddler nearing a tantrum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tommy,” Wraith pleads. “If you steal anything the Tribe would be in the whole right to execute you and exile me, please. Don’t make me lose my home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s face whips to face Wraith, horror tinging his features at the word exile. “I won’t. I promise I won’t cause trouble,” he says, and Wraith almost cries with relief at the honesty dripping from his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still have the necklace?” Wraith asks, nodding when Tommy points at the golden nugget on a string that he’s wearing around his neck. Wraith double-checks the golden bands around their short hair-tentacles. “Good, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parting the flaps, Wraith gently steps inside. Matee sits cross-legged on the floor, scratching words into a piece of toughened leather with a sharp bone. Matee wears a leather tunic covered in wide swatches by braided vines sewn into it, dozens of small colorful ribbons hanging from the vines. She even has two dark purple ribbons tied around her tusks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matee looks up from her task, her eyes widening when she sees Tommy. Wraith grimaces as she rises, Matee’s tail swishing agitatedly behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good hunting,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Matee begins, ever the diplomat, closing her eyes and raising her chin in a formal piglin greeting. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now, could you explain who this is?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This is Tommy, I saved him a week ago from the lava,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> explains Wraith, struggling to hold their own against, Matee’s narrowed eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>He… was hurt, the wounds far older and intentional than only lava. And yesterday the person who hurt him found us, so we ran.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And you would put the whole Tribe in danger for one lost human child?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>parries Matee, sternly looking down at Wraith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Have I not proven my goodwill after all these years helping the Tribe?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>answers Wraith, curling their fists. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I refuse to give in to a person who would hurt a child so badly, and I have nowhere else to go.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Calm, Wraith,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says Matee, her face softening, placing a hooved hand on their shoulder. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I only needed to know that you were sure of your decision.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I am,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wraith says, the fight leaching out of them, letting their head dip down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve grown so much,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she quietly says, a small smile appearing on her lips, as Wraith looks up with wide eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, the Tribe still has to decide. We shouldn’t keep the child waiting,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she says, gesturing with her head towards Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith laughs softly, nodding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, did she just call me a child?” asks Tommy, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?” says Wraith, turning around to face Tommy. “Since when do you know Piglin?!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t! My br– my friend taught me a bit years ago, so I can understand some but I can’t really speak it. Hell, I can only say one word!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What word?” asks Wraith curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tommy answers, a spark of mischief in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith’s mouth opens and closes like a fish before they instinctively facepalm. Heat rises over their cheeks, their paper-white skin turning a bright red with embarrassment. “Bloody lord, of course you remember that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matee bursts out laughing, the matron of the Crimson Tribe doubling over with how hard she’s snorting, her ears flapping about. Tommy laughs silently, his shoulders shaking like he’s trying very hard not to dissolve into giggles. Wraith groans loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Matee’s laughter subsides, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh dear, I haven’t laughed this much in ages!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, he’s… he’s a spirited one,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>answers Wraith, smiling towards Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll call for a council,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says Matee, straightening out their tunic and heading towards the way out. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay in here until I call you both out.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes ma’am,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>responds Wraith, nodding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matee smiles and steps out of the tent. Then, a sharp, loud squeal-like scream comes from outside the tent, making Tommy jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was</span>
  <em>
    <span> that?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says, flailing his hands in the direction of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was Matee calling a council,” explains Wraith, trying not to laugh at his startled expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck? That sounded like she was being murdered!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith snorts, hiding their face in their hand when Tommy tries to glare at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” says Wraith. “So, Matee’s going to explain the situation to the whole Tribe, and then they’re going to decide if we stay or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Matee is the piglin that just went out, right?” asks Tommy. Wraith nods. “Is she the leader?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly,” says Wraith, nervously adjusting the gold bands in their hair-tentacles. “Matee is the voice of the Tribe. It’s like… she’s in charge of solving conflicts, be it inside the Tribe or outside of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, like a judge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not that either,” answers Wraith, frowning as they search for the words to answer. “Judges care more about finding who’s guilty than solving the problem. And Matee also represents the Crimson Tribe before the other Piglin Tribes so she’s also like an ambassador?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wraith, Tommy, please come forward.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Wraith and Tommy stiffen, looking outside. Wraith takes a deep breath while Tommy sinks his hands into the half-burnt green bandanna tied around his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They step out into the clearing outside the tent to see a crowd of piglin standing around it, white eyes staring with curiosity at both of them. A single kid in the front row, one with a broken left tusk, waves at them cheerfully. Tommy waves back.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wraith, please translate for Tommy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matee says. Wraith nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The Crimson Tribe, as a whole, has decided thusly,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>begins Matee, holding out two ribbons, one red and one white, in her hands. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>On three conditions will you be allowed to stay.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“One,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she says, tying the two ribbons together with a knot. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The human will follow all rules of the Tribe, including that which bars the showing the location of this village to anyone not connected to the tribe.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Two,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she ties another knot. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy will be required to learn the piglin language, for as long as he stays.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And three,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she ties the final knot. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wraith will be responsible for Tommy. Any crimes he commits will rest on their shoulders as well.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith finishes translating only a second later, their throat dry. Matee reaches out, holding the ribbon in front of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Will you agree to this promise?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> asks Matee, her voice carrying loud and clear over the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you agree to the conditions,” says Wraith towards Tommy. “Take one end of the ribbon and repeat after me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I promise,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says Tommy, his botched pronunciation earning him a few snorts of mirth from the audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>So it shall be,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> declares Matee. Both Tommy and Wraith let go of the ribbon and Matee takes it, gently threading it through a gold hoop inside Matee’s ear and tying it so it dangles down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith gulps. Only very important promises get tied to the ears and not among the other myriad of promise ribbons. Lord, the only place more important than the ears are the tusks! The reality of what they have just done starts to sink into Wraith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>So it shall be,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> choruses the entire Tribe, the voices of almost four dozen piglin in solemn harmony, and then they strike the ground with their hooves, producing the closest sound to a thunderstrike that can exist in the nether.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the council is over and the crowd starts to disperse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wraith!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> says the familiar voice of Neethel, walking towards them. He’s clearly just finished work, black leather apron still over his bright red tunic, but the front pocket is empty of the usual assortment of medical supplies. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>By the Lady, I did not think you were going to grow attached to the Overworlder!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They splutter, trying to correct Neethel but not finding the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nevermind that!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says, an impish smile on his face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, I’ll help you set up your tent, you must be tired.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you Neethel,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>answers Wraith, motioning for Tommy to follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where are we going?” asks Tommy, fiddling with his green bandana. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going near the medical tent,” says Wraith, pointing at a big, bright magenta tent a few ways over. “We’re settling beside Neethel’s tent. See the smaller purple tent beside it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one with the black wings drawn on it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that one. The spot to the right is the one I normally use,” answers Wraith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking through the Tribe’s domain relaxes something in Wraith, and they smile, taking in the snippets of conversations as if it was a melody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon they arrive at the spot and Neethel quickly enters his house to bring out a set of carved wooden posts and sticking them into the ground with a few mighty slams. Wraith reaches into their inventory to take out their cloth. It is starkly white with red geometric designs at the edges, standing out simply by how much blank space it has. Tying the cloth down to the posts is second nature, even if the addition of Tommy helping replace the netherrack floor with quartz is a novelty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What is it with you and quartz?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> asks Neethel, snorting at Wraith’s half-hearted attempt to hit him with a rope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a pretty block and it helps with staying cool,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>they explain as if they haven’t had this exact same conversation many times before. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>If anything, you should ask the same thing to Tommy but with </span>
  </em>
  <span>cobblestone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What? No way,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Neethel says, glancing at Tommy with disbelieving eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I mean, it resists flame charges, but come on, it’s just so ugly!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you both shit-talking me?” says Tommy, glaring at them while brandishing his iron shovel, looking as intimidating as a newborn Hoglin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” answers Wraith, tying the last post with a final tug. “You’ll have to learn enough piglin to find out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking bet I will, bitch,” he answers, smiling from ear to ear.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter 5 pog!!! We finally get to meet the Crimson Tribe and introduce all these interesting concepts and I'm just :D. </p><p>I keep retconning stuff, mostly because I get new ideas. This is a new thing, writing without having the whole story planned. It’s *so weird*. But anyways! I retconned Phil having talons, mostly bc plot. I am excited for that!!!!</p><p>That said, I read the bookmarks of this series and I smiled like an idiot when I saw KatieLion99 tag my story as "looking forward to updates", hope you enjoyed these updates!</p><p>And then I cackled out loud at chichinotfound's "dream go away" XD.</p><p>And Rudy-Rose-Heartbeat, I appreciate an organized bookmarker. </p><p>And finally: IkeaFries, here is what I had in mind for Tommy knowing the piglin language.</p><p>I'm happy you all enjoyed and I hope you see you guys next chapter :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ranboo comes to in the middle of the snow, skin stinging like acid from the snow melting on his suit and holding a blaze rod for some enderdamned reason. He blinks, turning around to see an expanse of white broken only by a few spruce trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he whispers, pocketing the blaze rod inside his inventory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reflexively rubs his hands on his forearms, more for comfort than actual cold. Wherever he must come from must be cold as hell if he’s fine in a suit in the middle of a tundra. The movement drags the soaked cloth over his skin, making him hiss in pain. His head hurts, the pain concentrated on his forehead. And maybe he fell on his back at some point because it is sore as hell too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What was I doing here?’ thinks Ranboo, digging in his inventory for his Memory Book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly skims over his lists (so he’s friends with Tommy now? That’s cool) and then flips over to the last page and begins to read.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy’s gone missing. The place he was staying was blown up. I’m not completely sure, but I think Dream is behind this. DON’T TRUST DREAM. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo said Tommy is in the Nether. Search for him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Days Tommy has been missing: </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>
      <span>IIII</span>
    </em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span> III</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That tells him </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> of how he got here. He doesn’t even know where he is! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ears go flat against his head, his tail lashing around. The urge to pick up a grass block is getting stronger and stronger, his claws gripping his notebook so tightly they leave marks in the leather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flips to the last page of the book, where he’s scrawled the coordinates of his house and types into his communicator so he can pull up his own coordinates. He’s… very far away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting out a dismayed sigh, Ranboo resigns himself to a long trek in the snow. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Tommy sidesteps the trunk of a Crimson Fungus, trying to pretend this is just a casual stroll through the forest. He listens intently for hooves or anybody following him, but all he perceives is the swaying of red, vein-like branches and leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks over to a patch of nylium-covered netherrack exactly three blocks from a quartz vein and quickly mines it, uncovering two barrels hidden inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first barrel is full of odd bits and bobs; some netherrack blocks, multiple bottles of water, a single piece of leather, and a set of wooden tools. He shoves a few poorly-made bandages in there too before shutting the lid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gags as he opens the lid of the other barrel, the smell of rotting food hitting his face. With an annoyed sigh, he dumps most of the contents out on the floor for the hoglins to feast on later and fills it up again with half his meal before tightly shutting the lid. He wishes it wasn’t so hot in the Nether, everything spoils </span>
  <em>
    <span>so fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stick cracks behind him, and Tommy whirls around, iron sword at the ready. A zombie pigman looks at him with blank, beady eyes, a golden sword loosely held in its grasp, before walking past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, run you fucking bitch,” spits Tommy, trying to ignore the way his heart keeps pounding in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastily covering up the barrels, he heads back into the forest trying to keep his pace slow through sheer force of will. Ghost eyes follow his every move, waiting for the right moment to strike, even though Tommy tells himself he has nothing to fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tops of the tents come back into view and Tommy lets out a sharp sigh of relief, hurrying back to the village proper and letting himself get lost in the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking into the village, he catches the stares of a few piglin, but as days have passed he notices they become less and less. He can even recognize a few faces. Lethi the warrior, the one that was carrying a whole Hoglin corpse without breaking a sweat, is a few tents down talking with one of his apprentices. An elder piglin that came in a few days back for some pain relievers shuffles down the street with a basket of mushrooms at his side. He can even spot the asshole that threw a handful of rotting meat at him the other day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Said asshole catches his gaze and huffs, Tommy glaring at him in response. Asshole scratches the ground at him, which Tommy has learned is the piglin gesture for “you are an annoying fucker” before turning around and going back into his tent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hardass,” mutters Tommy, walking faster towards the bright magenta tent that serves as the village’s hospital. “Not my fucking fault I didn’t know that gapple was yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, the healing tent comes into view. Tommy takes a second to look at the hundreds of red hoofprints painted on the fabric. Each of those hoofprints was left by a patient that was successfully healed, leaving behind their mark in gratitude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy parts the opening of the tent, standing back so that a piglin holding a baby in their arms can step out, before heading inside. He grunts a greeting to the piglins being treated inside and tilts his head respectfully to Onoe the head healer, before walking past and into the storage area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He parts the tent flap to enter the room, outfitted floor to ceiling with handmade chests in a deep red color, not the standard wood-brown of crafting-table made chests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting on the floor, surrounded by ridiculous amounts of weeping-worm string and a small pile of wool, is Neethel. Neethel stuffs another roll of newly-made bandages into his black leather apron pocket, before looking up, his gold nose ring glinting in the low light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he greets, his ears fluttering happily, patting the cushion beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy says hello back, dropping himself onto the pillow and placing his crafting table in front of it. He grabs a handful of string before continuing the repetitive motions of turning that into wool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>---- you ---- a good walk?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> says Neethel and Tommy cocks his head in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Could you repeat that, please?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> says Tommy in piglish, the phrase coming out perfect with the ease of constant repetition. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you ---- a good walk?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> answers Neethel slowly, digging into a new block of wool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>answers Tommy, kind of sure that he’s talking about the walk he just had. Piglish is </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span> with how time is used. Verbs have different past forms depending on if what you’re talking about happened before you last slept, before the last reunion, before the last Council, or before your generation. And that’s it. There is no way of saying ‘last year’ or even 'a few minutes ago’. It’s fucking trippy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you like walks?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> asks Neethel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I like walks a lot,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>answers Tommy, less because he means what he says and more so he can practice talking and not make an idiot of himself next time he tries to get his food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you do on walks?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Neethel asks, his gray eyes, so light they’re almost white, glinting with cheer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s shoulders rise sharply, every thought at the back of his head screaming that Neethel found his stash and he’s just asking to mock him before he’s forced to dump it all out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t understand why he feels like he’s doing something wrong, he’s not stealing anything! The food comes from his own portion, the leather, tools, and netherrack he got on his own. Even the bandages were poorly-made rejects that were going to be burnt, for Primes’ sake! Yes, he’s hiding stuff but they never said he couldn’t! He’s not doing anything wrong, shut the fuck up, brain!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t answer, instead shoving string at the crafting table with more force than necessary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neethel shrugs but doesn’t press. Instead, he begins humming a chant under his breath. The words are in galactic, not piglish, since they’re a prayer to Lady Death, asking for her to spare the lives of his patients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking his lead, Tommy starts reciting the only prayer he knows, a short psalm asking Prime for blessings of wealth. Normally he’d pray by ringing his bell while talking about the things he wants, but he doesn’t trust taking his bell out of the enderchest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s tempted to make up a prayer of his own. He’s getting kind of sick of repeating the same words while he’s stuck working odd jobs in the healing tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neethel finishes his prayer and begins singing a children’s rhyme that he’s been trying to teach Tommy. It’s a playful melody, just as rhythmic as all piglin songs, as if they were trying to play the drum with their voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a looping melody, so Tommy listens to Neethel sing until the end and then joins in. He fumbles the lyrics the first go-around, but when Neethel doesn’t mention it, he just keeps singing. Both of them time their movements with their music, working until the singing becomes second nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Neethel changes the melody, doing a counterpoint to Tommy’s own. It’s something different every time, something he creates on the spot, and he doesn’t understand a single word he says. It’s still really cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The loop nears the end and Tommy thinks ‘fuck it’. The song starts again, Neethel singing the original melody, and Tommy just starts babbling piglish-sounding nonsense, making his own counterpoint melody. It’s sounds fucking horrible, but Tommy refuses to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song ends and Neethel starts waving his hands around and doing happy grunts, his ears flapping in excitement, his tail swinging around in glee. Tommy laughs at him but chokes on his laughter when Neethel hugs him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tenses, his breath getting caught in his throat. Neethel lets go as if he was burned, sounding apologetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s skin tingles as if it had been electrified, almost uncomfortable but not quite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you okay?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> asks Neethel, cautiously reaching out to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know where the impulse comes from, but Tommy lurches forward to hug Neethel back, ignoring the squeal of surprise that comes out of the piglin. After a few seconds, Neethel’s arms come to wrap around his back and Tommy lets his head drop onto Neethel’s shoulder, his own shoulders shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s horrified to find there are tears leaking out of his eyes, slowly dripping onto Neethel’s magenta tunic, but the warmth that’s trickling into his bones, a warmth that has nothing to do with temperature, is too much of a relief to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long he spends clutching Neethel, but eventually, he forces himself to let go and step back, sniffling and wiping his eyes with his hand. Neethel gently headbutts him, which makes Tommy chuckle and headbutt him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy? Are you there?” calls Wraith from the outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a panic, Tommy wipes his face and tries to hide that he was just crying, just in time for Wraith to float into the storage room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are!” they say, grunting a greeting to Neethel. “It should be about time for a check-up, and after that, I’ve got your clothes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy grumbles but stands up, his knees cracking loudly at the action. He follows Neethel through another tent flap at the back of the room and into the biggest room in the tent, that being the sick ward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drags his feet over to the weird-looking mess of weights and ropes that the Tribe uses as a weight scale and sits on a blackstone platform, patiently waiting as Neethel hooks weight after weight on ropes until he feels the blackstone shift and slightly raises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neethel begins speaking rapid-fire piglish that Wraith translates as he talks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still aren’t putting enough weight,” speaks Wraith, then frowns as they process the words as well. “Neethel is not sure if this is typical for humans, but your recovery is going much slower than expected. You’re eating all your portions, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” immediately answers Tommy, a little too fast to be believable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neethel and Wraith share a look, an entire silent conversation unfolding between them that Tommy can’t even begin to understand. Memories of similar unspoken conversations between him and Tubbo flash in his mind, and he has to grit his teeth at the pain they bring. Even though the medical tent is just as full as it was before, Tommy feels as if he’s alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith sighs. “Nevermind that. I have your clothes in my bag. I think one of the sickbeds is empty right now, maybe you could change there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods, relieved. Piglins apparently don’t have any kind of taboo about being naked. When he went to get his measurements taken and the seamstress gave him some shirts to try on, he got so fucking freaked out when she started making motions for him to take off his clothes right there. He’s grateful that Wraith was there to explain the whole situation and that now they’re helping him find places to change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ducks into the small cubicle, the bed clean and empty of any patients, and hurries to shuck off the dress that Wraith lent him. Despite his best attempts to clean it each time he went to sleep, it’s already full of random stains and torn in multiple places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, he tries on the shirts. He has three. The first one is a plain red shirt, the silk coarser and thicker than the others. It’s a shirt meant for rough work, like going to mine. The other two he tried to get as close to his classic white-and-red shirt. One the seamstress made by sewing on the red sleeves, sturdy leather cording standing out in artful patterns over the silk. The last shirt was white and the top part was dyed by dunking it into a cauldron full of dye, so the red fades into white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three fit just fine, but Tommy’s not used to all his clothes looking different. Normally, people just get multiple of the same outfit, since that’s easier and cheaper to get done. Besides, changing your usual outfit has </span>
  <em>
    <span>meaning</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It means</span>
  <em>
    <span> you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have changed. Tommy looks at the clothes in his hands in frustration, wishing they looked just like his old shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes off those stupid, pointless thoughts and tries on the shorts he got along with a leather belt that has a gold buckle, a little like a piglin brute’s. They look similar to his old pants at least since he still has them, even if they got absolutely trashed in exile and then turned into shorts by Wraith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is up with the pockets? There’s so many,” says Tommy out loud, without meaning to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mobs don’t have inventories, Tommy,” answers Wraith, startling him so bad he drops the belt on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And they can’t use a crafting table, yeah I fucking know,” he snaps back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he hadn’t really thought of not being able to use his inventory. Is that why so many piglins have pouches tied to their belts? Actually, he spots a leather hoop on his belt that would be perfect for hanging his sword with. Maybe pockets are pog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing he tries on is the shoes. They feel off in just the slightest way that’s really fucking difficult to put into words, but it’s better than he expected since piglin don’t use shoes, their hooves more than strong enough to withstand the burning-hot netherrack. They’re… good enough to keep his feet unhurt even if they’re uncomfortable as hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts on his leather-stitched shirt and one of the shorts, stepping out of the cubicle. Neethel wiggles his ears in excited approbation, while Wraith critically looks at the clothes, most likely trying to figure out if they need adjustments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neethel started poking Wraith’s arm and said something to which they nodded. “Neethel’s asking if you want any jewelry. He’d be willing to lend you some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And uh,” they continued awkwardly, “If you want some face paint I could lend you some too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want any fancy shit,” answers Tommy, tilting his head towards Neethel. “And the paint…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks at Wraith. Today they have red paint outlining their eyes and dipping down their cheeks in what look like claw marks. It looks fucking pog, but Tommy knows he’s a shit artist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, no paint either,” he finally answers, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Tommy. We should go eat,” says Wraith, before switching to piglish and saying the exact same phrase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy groans. He’s not really hungry, at least not anymore, and he was enjoying speaking Common for the first time in… four days? Five?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What food do you like?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> asks Neethel in a voice so cheerful it grates on Tommy’s nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uuuuugh.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Vines curl around him in a warm hug, words of comfort filling his ears and pulling him into a doze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᓭ⚍ᓵ⍑ ᔑ ⊣𝙹𝙹↸ ⎓∷╎ᒷリ↸, ᓭꖌᒷ!¡!¡||!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy smiles, leaning more against the coarse shell of the Egg. The drips of crying obsidian fade into the background noise of his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ʖ⚍ℸ ̣  ╎'ᒲ ᓭℸ ̣ ╎ꖎꖎ ꖎ𝙹リᒷꖎ||. ↸𝙹 ||𝙹⚍ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣  ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑ᒷꖎ!¡ ᒲᒷ, ᓭꖌᒷ!¡!¡||?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” he answers, closing his eyes so he can listen better to its voice. “Always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“⊣ᒷℸ ̣  ᒲᒷ ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ ⎓∷╎ᒷリ↸ᓭ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” he promises. “I will.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There is so much foreshadowing shoved into this one chapter. None of you have anyyyyyyy idea.</p><p>I am slowly introducing all the moving parts of this story, but there we have a bit of slice-of-life with Tommy! And also I feel for him. Learning a language do be hard.</p><p>And now he's got a new outfit! I didn't even plan to translate skins into Overworld culture but now I did and I am so happy. </p><p>To clarify the timeline: Tommy spent roughly two months in exile, and then left. Dream noticed Tommy was missing three days later and told Tubbo the next day. On the fifth day, Dream found Wraith’s house, and both Tommy and Wraith left for the Tribe that same day.<br/>By the end of this chapter, Tommy has spent a week with the Tribe. </p><p>Also I really like the galactic alphabet. It's really pretty!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em> Hello, my love,” she says. Her gentle hands cup his face and her eyes shine with quiet adoration. “I hoped by the time this came to be, you were already in my realm, but it seems fate has decided the matter for me.” </em></p><p>
  <em> The void swirls around them with spiraling particles, slowly leeching the life out of his body. For a few moments in her presence, the pain is worth it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You have now become a player in a game of gods,” she says, her face becoming somber. “Listen and remember, love. A new god rises, hidden, in your world. Should you let it win, it will consume everything in its path.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Wake up, my love,” she says, and then he’s falling– </em>
</p><hr/><p>“Aaaaagh!” Tommy falls to the floor, quickly scrambling back as an axe slams on the ground before him. </p><p>“<em> Enough for today,” </em>says Lethi, hoisting the training axe back onto their shoulder. </p><p>“<em> No! Don’t stop!” </em> answers Tommy, scrambling back to his feet. He brings his own training axe forward, trying to hit the older warrior, but he misses spectacularly. </p><p>He tries to attack again, but he stumbles and has to stop, heaving for breath.</p><p>Lethi gingerly takes the wooden training axe from Tommy’s fingers and walks over to the weapons rack, setting it in its place.</p><p>“<em> Not too much,” </em> Lethi says, giving Tommy one of the many water bottles made just for him. </p><p>“<em> I was better at fighting,” </em> says Tommy, his voice cracking with an embarrassing chirp at the end.</p><p>“<em> You were also eating more,” </em> they say, nudging him towards the exit of the training area. <em> “Be ---- with ----.” </em></p><p><em> “I didn’t understand that,” </em> Tommy automatically answers, before opening the water bottle in his hand and taking a hearty gulp.</p><p>“<em> ...Give yourself time,” </em> they say, putting a hand on his shoulder. “ <em> Rest. We will do more later.” </em></p><p>He nods and shuffles to the set of hard, packed cushions at the edge of the training area. He lets himself drop onto them and watches the other apprentices practice. Most of the other apprentices are older than him and it shows, landing brutal blows on each other with efficient strokes of axes or lightning-quick sword strikes. Those using crossbows despite piglin’s shit vision nail their targets dead-on and hit their opponents with the crossbow itself if they get too close. There are even a few weapons Tommy has never seen used before. There’s one fighting with knives against someone wielding a damn <em> hammer </em>. </p><p>Tommy grits his teeth, looking down at the worn netherrack. He’s better than this. He <em> knows </em> he can fight better than the pathic attempts he’s been doing. What the fuck is wrong with him?</p><p>Lethi waves a hand in front of Tommy’s face, snapping him out of his thoughts. </p><p>“<em> Can I sit?” </em>they ask, gesturing to the cushion beside Tommy. </p><p>He shrugs, drinking from his bottle while Lethi lowers themselves to the ground. Sitting right beside them, Tommy finds that while Lethi is more or less his height, he’s dwarfed by their large frame. </p><p><em> “Did you learn to fight from a piglin?” </em>Lethi asks, tilting his head towards him.</p><p>
  <em> He hits the ground so hard his breath is knocked out of him. He tastes metal and warmth. His ears ring so hard he fears he’ll never hear again. Techno looms over him, his fists bloody and grin feral. </em>
</p><p><em> “... piglin hybrid,” </em>Tommy answers, shaking the memories out of his head, forcing them back into a corner of his mind.</p><p>“<em> They were stronger than you, right?” </em> </p><p>“Oh fuck off! I’m the strongest man there is!” Tommy yells right in Lethi’s face.</p><p>Their ears stand rigid in surprise, their gray eyes wide. “<em> I… never meant it as an ---” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Didn’t understand.” </em>
</p><p><em> “I did not mean it as a bad thing,” </em> clarifies Lethi, their painted-red ears finally lowering into a relaxed state. “ <em> I am strong, you are fast. But your teacher taught you to fight strong, not fast.” </em></p><p>“Huh,” Tommy says. “Wait, <em> my teacher was </em> … oh, fuck, how do you even say that word.  Uh, <em> my teacher was bad?” </em></p><p>“<em> Maybe they were a bad teacher. I don’t know,” </em> Lethi says. “ <em> But I could teach you to fight fast.” </em></p><p><em> “You will?” </em> asks Tommy, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.</p><p>“<em> If you want,” </em>Lethi says, softly smiling. </p><p>“<em> Why?” </em> Tommy asks, narrowing his eyes at them.</p><p>“<em> Because I like teaching,” </em> answers Lethi as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p>Tommy opens his mouth, but then closes it with a click. He doesn’t think that Lethi is lying and he already knows they don’t hurt when teaching, not like Techno, so there is no reason to say no.</p><p>“<em> Sure,” </em> says Tommy, going for casually confident and ending up somewhere around cautiously excited.</p><p>“<em> Good. Follow me,” </em> Lethi says, getting to their feet, their tail swinging from side to side. They trot over to the weapons rack, Tommy following behind, where they rummage around for a second before retrieving a wooden training spear.</p><p>“<em> Take it,” </em> they say, holding it out.</p><p>Tommy takes the spear, his hand curling around the wooden handle of it. He steps back and takes a test swing like he would do with a sword. He tries to do a cool twirl with it and ends up smacking himself in the face and dropping the spear to the ground.</p><p>Lethi walks over to Tommy, looking at him in concern, but calms down once he waves them off. “<em> Start with your right hand palm up,” </em> says Lethi, picking up the spear from the ground and holding it out for Tommy to grab. “ <em> Your right hand is near the top, the left on the bottom.” </em></p><p>Tommy fumbles, but he soon does as he’s told, holding the spear awkwardly before him. </p><p>“<em> Now, --- ----” </em>Lethi says, coming back from the weapon rack holding a spear of their own. </p><p>“<em> What?” </em> Tommy says.</p><p>“<em> This,” </em> they say, stepping forward and doing a downward slash, the blade at the tip of the spear cutting through the air flawlessly. “ <em> A basic slash.” </em></p><p>He nods, breathing out before trying to imitate Lethi.</p><p>“<em> Good. Now do it twenty times.” </em></p><p>Tommy stands back and repeats the motion. He knows this, grinding away at something, and soon his mind quiets. Learning how to use a spear… he surprisingly likes it. Even if it’ll be difficult to keep using it because he can’t craft one. </p><p>As he trains, without knowing it, he smiles for the longest he has in weeks.</p><hr/><p>“–ubbo. Tubbo!”</p><p>He startles, instinctively hiding his compass from view. “What? What’s going on?”</p><p>“Could you focus for <em> once in your life, </em> Tubbo?” Quackity says, slamming his hand on the table. “Even Schlatt was more focused in meetings than you!”</p><p>Tubbo flinches, a pit of guilt opening in the bottom of his stomach. “Sorry.”</p><p>“As I was saying,” Quackity says, gesturing at Fundy for him to place their hit list on the table, the formal document set in a deceptively boring-looking leather folder. “We can’t keep waiting anymore. Technoblade is still somewhere out there, and he could decide to end our nation at any moment he fucking pleases.”</p><p>“I say we get ahead and hunt him <em> down </em>,” grins Quackity, his black eyes glinting with anticipation.</p><p>“Hear, hear!” says Fundy, his fangs shining through his smile. </p><p>“We still don’t know where he is, though,” points out Tubbo, frowning at the table. </p><p>“Then we force Philza to tell us,” Quackity says as if he was answering the question ‘what is 2+2’ and not implying <em> torture. </em></p><p>“Absolutely not,” snaps Tubbo. “Philza is one of our citizens, we can’t do that.”</p><p>“He’s working with a known terrorist, Tubbo!”</p><p>“We don’t know that!” Tubbo sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “We can’t accuse him of collaborating with Techno without having proof it’s true!” </p><p>“We can find out?” says Fundy. “We can just– get in his house, see if we find anything?”</p><p>“You’re proposing we invade your grandfather's house,” states Tubbo, a muted sort of disbelief in his tone.</p><p>“The first time I met him, he killed my father,” growls Fundy, sharp canines in full display. “He’ll <em> never </em> be my grandfather.”</p><p>“... Okay,” says Tubbo. He closes his eyes, lays his head on his hands. Quackity and Fundy won’t let go of the idea, and he’s sure that if he keeps saying no they’ll just do it behind his back anyway. And maybe if they do kill Technoblade, he won’t jump at shadowy corners and flashes of pink, he won’t wake up at night with nightmares of New L’Manburg in flames–</p><p>Wait. If they do find anything on Phil, they’ll probably imprison him. He won’t be able to search for Tommy anymore. Shit. </p><p>Think, Tubbo. <em> Think. </em> </p><p>If they have netherite gear, surprise him <em> and </em> fight him 4v1, they may be able to kill him. But if Phil takes his side, they’d be done for. So, he has to keep Phil out of the picture.</p><p>“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do,” says Tubbo, putting on his most authoritative voice. “We’ll go to Phil’s house and search it while <em> he’s not there,” </em>emphasizes Tubbo, shooting a glare at Quackity. “If there is evidence, we’ll capture him the next time he enters L’Manburg. If there isn’t, we’ll shelve plan Hog Hunt and focus on killing Dream, alright?”</p><p>“Fine,” huffs Quackity, rolling his eyes.</p><p>Tubbo breathes a sigh of relief. If they do find something, he’ll just send a message to Phil warning him to not come back, and hopefully, Phil can keep him updated on how his search for Tommy is going in return.</p><p>“Cool,” says Fundy. “Can I go now? I really wanna buy some scones from Nikki.”</p><p>“Sure,” says Quackity, standing up from his chair. “Tubbo, clean up the mess. I’ll go find us some supplies.”</p><p>Both Fundy and Quackity leave, and Tubbo is left alone in the meeting room. With an angry sigh, he begins collecting documents.</p><hr/><p>“<em> Neethel, stop your tail,” </em> says Tommy, standing up from beside the healer piglin, taking his plate with him. “ <em> It hit me again!” </em></p><p>Neethel laughs, almost letting bones slide out of his plate. His tail keeps whipping behind him as he playfully snorts.</p><p>Tommy strikes the ground with his foot in the pigling gesture for annoyance. Neethel loses the battle against laughter and falls to his side, the bone landing on the rocky ground. </p><p>“<em> You fuck!” </em></p><p><em> “Bloody lord, you both are children,” </em>says Wraith, putting their face in their hands. </p><p>“<em> Only Tommy is a child!” </em>gleefully says Neethel, leaning down to pick up his bone, cracking it in two. </p><p>“<em> HEY!” </em></p><p>Neethel doesn’t answer, too busy sucking out the bone marrow out of his bone with a shit-eating grin on his face.</p><p>“<em> Tommy, please sit down,” </em>says Wraith, cracking a bone and putting it on his plate.</p><p>“<em> Fineeee,” </em>Tommy whines, pettily sitting as far from Neethel’s spot as he can. He takes the bone and sucks out the marrow. He was weirded out the first time he tried it, but now it’s quickly becoming one of his favorite foods. He already has a few more bones squirreled away in his inventory.</p><p>“<em> We should go soon,” </em> says Wraith to Neethel. “ <em> The healing tent needs more Ghast tears.” </em></p><p>Tommy screws his face up. Wraith, as a half-Ghast, makes Ghast tears when they cry. Neethel makes some sort of eye-watering brew and holds it near Wraith’s face, then collects the tears, drying the water-part and leaving the potion ingredient behind. It freaks Tommy the fuck out to see Wraith cry, even if they are doing it with a stony expression.</p><p>“<em> I’ll go on a walk,” </em>says Tommy, hurrying to finish his bone.</p><p>“<em> Be back soon,” </em> says Neethel, picking off a piece of mushroom from one of his tusks. “ <em> We need you to craft more things.” </em></p><p>Tommy groans. He’s been crafting so much shit the past few days. It gives him something to do during his mandatory rest time, but it’s so <em> boring </em> . Still, he once asked how they made bowls and it was hard to wrap his head around the fact that it took <em> hours </em>. </p><p>“<em> Sure,” </em> he says, subtly checking the food he has squirreled away in his pockets. “ <em> Be back soon.” </em></p><p>With Neethel and Wraith’s farewell’s at his back, Tommy makes his way out of the eating tent and wanders to the border of the town. He walks into the Crimson Forest, quieting his footsteps and keeping an ear out for any Hoglin grunts.</p><p>The now-familiar path is deserted, and Tommy’s mind wanders to familiar wooden paths and the walls of his dirt hut. He wants to get back there... right? He loves his country, one of the last things he has from Wilbur, and he would give anything to go back to his bench and play his disks on the jukebox. </p><p>But he’s the cause of everyone’s problems since the start. It would probably be better if he never came back if he stayed with the Crimson Tribe. Maybe if enough time passes, everyone will forget about him. It would be as if he was never there in the first place.</p><p>His feet stop in front of his hidden barrel, mining away the netherrack that covers it. This time there isn’t any rotting smell; he’s learned which foods last in the Nether. Granted he didn’t try to find lasting foods until he accidentally got drunk off of some melon juice he had hidden away for a little too long. He shuts the barrel with a wooden clack.</p><p>“Hello, Tommy.”</p><p>The familiar voice freezes the air in his lungs and Tommy turns around. Standing before him is a familiar man in a white mask, the blank smile pointed in his direction.</p><p>On instinct, Tommy summons his sword, the dull iron looking as menacing as a toothpick against the gleaming netherite of Dream’s armor.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Dream asks, his voice pained, taking a step towards Tommy. “I’ve been looking for you for <em> weeks, </em>Tommy. Do you know how worried I was when I came back to apologize for losing my temper and you were gone?”</p><p>He knows that Dream’s faking, he fucking <em> knows </em> that he’s only there to watch him, but he battles the guilt that rises at how honest Dream’s voice sounds. Tommy’s sword lowers without his input, but Tommy shakes his head and raises it again.</p><p>“Tommy, please, you can’t keep doing this!” says Dream, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation, ignoring the full-body flinch Tommy does. He reaches into his inventory and Tommy’s comm materializes in his hand. The message ‘go away Dream’ in bright red letters shines from the broken screen, exactly as Tommy had left it in Wraith’s house. “I waited for you to come back on your own, I even gave you back your comm<em> , </em> but instead you stay with a bunch of mobs and spit on everything I’ve done your you!” </p><p>“They’re better friends than you are!” spits back Tommy, a spark of anger lighting in his chest. “They don’t hurt me or blow up my stuff!”</p><p>Dream sighs as if he’s explaining a basic concept to a particularly stupid child. “I am trying to help you! You keep doing shit like this, <em> of course </em> I need to teach you how to be a decent human being!”</p><p>“I’m not going back with you,” says Tommy, gripping his sword tightly. “I’m staying here.”</p><p>“...fine,” spits Dream, his voice cold and cutting. “Fine! Stay here and keep lying to yourself!”</p><p>“What?” asks Tommy, stepping back.</p><p>“They don’t care about you, Tommy! Why can’t you see that?!?” Dream says, harshly running a hand through his hair in annoyance. “They’re just letting you hang around, they don’t give a <em> shit </em> to how you are!”</p><p>“You’re lying!” screams Tommy, but deep down there’s a voice agreeing with what Dream’s saying. “Leave me the fuck alone you shitty-ass liar!”</p><p>“The only one lying here is <em> you </em> to <em> yourself </em>,” answers Dream, stepping even closer to Tommy. “If you don’t believe me, call out to them!” he says, pointing towards the village with a sweeping gesture of his arm. “Ask for help, see if they care!”</p><p>Tommy hesitates, looking towards the Crimson Forest obscuring the village. It’s not far, his voice would reach fine, but he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t! Let him pretend a little longer, please–</p><p>Dream summons his axe and swings towards him, knocking the sword ouf of his grasp. Tommy flinches and throws himself backward, his back hitting the wall with a flash of eye-watering pain. The blade of the axe is held at his throat, the sharp edge pressed against his skin with a cold promise.</p><p>“CALL!”</p><p>“WRAITH!” screams Tommy, tears gathering at the edge of his eyes. “WRAITH HELP! NEETHEL! LETHI, <em> ANYONE, PLEASE! HELP! </em>”</p><p>The axe presses harder, Dream cocking his head to the side as the blade draws a thin line of blood.</p><p>“<em> HELP, PLEASE!” </em> screams Tommy, the piglish words shredding his vocal cords, his eyes darting around in a frenzy for an escape. “ <em> HELP ME!” </em></p><p>The sounds of the Nether fill Tommy’s ears, the faint echoes of grunts and squeals of the Tribe reaching him, but there’s no movement, just red roots, and towering stems.</p><p>“...Looks like nobody came,” casually remarks Dream, taking away his axe.</p><p>Tommy falls to the ground, soundless, stuttering gasps ripping out his throat. His tears finally fall, hitting the ground and slowly beginning to evaporate. He curls himself into a tight ball, a sob bursting from his chest.</p><p>“Oh come on, don’t tell me you actually thought they’d come,” mocks Dream, a tea-kettle laugh wheezing from his chest. “I thought you were smarter than that!”</p><p>He doesn’t answer, instead digging his nails into his scalp, trying to ground himself over the crushing hopelessness rising against him.</p><p>“See, Tommy?” Dream says, almost softly, running a hand through Tommy’s hair. “I’m the only one who cares about you.”</p><p>Tommy shudders, the touch a burning parody of Wilbur’s affectionate head ruffles and Phil’s gentle strokes that he can’t help but lean into.</p><p>“Hey,” Dream says softly, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “We should go back to Logstedshire. We can go build a cobblestone tower, how does that sound?”</p><p>He closes his eyes, too <em> tired </em> to even try and hide his tears anymore. Hanging his head,  he exhales with a shudder.</p><p>“C’mon, get up,” orders Dream, but Tommy’s shaking legs refuse to cooperate. “I <em> said </em> get up–”</p><p>“Who are you?” </p><p>Standing on the edge of the clearing is Wraith, eyes narrowed at Dream, one hand inside their leather pouch. </p><p>“I’m his friend,” says Dream, tilting his head towards Tommy, but two months in Logstedshire taught Tommy about the dangerous line of tension running in Dream’s shoulders. “I’ve come to take him back home.”</p><p>Wraith hesitates, but then takes one look at Tommy’s tear-stricken face and their expression hardens. “Step away from him.”</p><p>“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that,” answers Dream, a quiet, drawled statement of the truth. His gleaming netherite axe materializes in his hand.</p><p>“<em> Get down!” </em>they yell in piglish and Tommy throws himself to the floor just in time for a fireball to burst out of their mouth with an ear-rending shriek, careening straight towards Dream. He throws himself to the side, barely dodging the flaming ball. The projectile keeps going and hits a Crimson Shroom, obliterating it on the spot. </p><p>Tommy scrambles to his feet, gripping the netherrack wall as a support, as Dreams runs towards Wraith. They throw a slowness potion right at Dream’s face, but he dodges and only barely gets splashed. His movements slow but he still keeps going.</p><p>Panic takes over Wraith’s face and they start floating upwards, quickly going out of Dream’s range. He instead summons his bow and fires point-blank. The arrow sinks into Wraith’s thigh and they shriek in pain, letting loose another fireball that Dream blocks with his shield, quickly notching another arrow.</p><p>With a cold shudder, Tommy realizes that Wraith is <em> not </em> a fighter. They don’t have the practiced instincts that come from war, flinching when they should keep going, fumbling when they should press what little advantage they have. </p><p>So Tommy does what he’s always done and grits his teeth until his grimace looks like a smile, grips his sword tighter and jumps into the fight.</p><p>He goes for a cheap shot, slashing at Dream’s back, but he notices and resummons his shield, the sword clanging uselessly against it. Dream rams Tommy backwards with the shield and turns to strike, setting Tommy on the defensive. </p><p>He tries to parry but his arms shake from the effort so he jumps to the side and tries to do a reckless strike that Dream flawlessly side steps, who then surges forward, scoring a deep gash into Tommy’s side.</p><p>Tommy curses, pressing a hand against the wound to stem the bleeding, and then watches with horror as Dream fires an arrow point-blank into Wraith’s neck. </p><p>Wraith <em> screams </em> , their levitation cutting out and making them plummet to the ground. They hit the netherrack with a sickening thump- <em> crack! </em>and skid to a stop. With a choked cry, Wraith tries to prop themselves up against a rock, but their arms fail them and they collapse back down.</p><p>“No! Wraith!” Tommy screams, watching as Dream walks over towards them, posture loose, his axe swinging carelessly.</p><p>“You get attached so easily Tommy,” Dream says, sticking his foot just under Wraith’s chin, forcing it up. “I thought you’d learn not to by now.”</p><p>The words sink to Tommy’s brain like a needle, making his ears ring. <em> No, </em> he thinks, <em> not again. </em> He bursts forward with a wild yell, praying to Prime for just <em> one </em> miracle. One way to keep the friend he still has. </p><p>He charges athim, and Tommy can almost <em> feel </em> Dream rolling his eyes behind the mask, ready to stop his desperate swing in his tracks. </p><p>He strikes. </p><p>Tommy watches as if underwater the moment Dream’s annoyance turns into shock as the sword in Tommy’s hand is swapped by a spear, the bladed tip burying itself deep into Dream’s stomach.</p><p>He stumbles backwards, clutching at the gushing wound, summoning a health potion from his inventory and downing it in one go. The wound closes enough to stop bleeding, but it’s obvious that any movement will open it right back up.</p><p>“Is this how you wanna play it, Tommy?” says Dream, his voice a steady note of calm. “IS THIS HOW YOU WANT THINGS TO GO?!?”</p><p>Tommy flinches away, drops of blood splattering on the ground from his spear.</p><p>“I WILL NEVER GIVE UP ON YOU, YOU HEAR ME TOMMY?!?” Dream screams, gripping and swinging at Tommy who barely dodges and tumbles to the ground. “I’LL ALWAYS BE RIGHT BEHIND YOU UNTIL YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH OF MISTAKE YOU’VE MADE!”</p><p>Dream jumps away from Tommy, a spiked metal ball flying through the space his head was in milliseconds before. The metal ball is pulled back by a chain, coming to rest beside cloven feet.</p><p>“<em>Get </em><b><em>out,”</em></b> growls out Neethel, the length of chain on one hand and a mace held tightly in the other. Behind him there are more piglin, all wielding weapons, huffing angrily at Dream.</p><p>The white porcelain mask betrays none of Dream’s thoughts as he observes the horde of angry piglin pointing weapons at him. </p><p>“Oh well,” Dream says, casually beginning to type into his communicator. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”</p><p>Tommy opens his mouth to ask what the hell he meant when the unmistakable explosions of TNT go off in the distance. With mounting horror, Tommy watches as multiple sections of the roof above the village breaks apart, stone and red dust showering the tents, before a <em> river </em> of lava begins flowing from the holes, dripping directly into the center of the village.</p><p>“Your problem now,” Dream says before smashing an invisibility potion and running away, his laughter the only thing he leaves behind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Writing a character that's still learning a language is so fucking complicated and yet this is the *fourth* time I've written a story where this is the case. Why the hell am I so masochistic???</p><p>Also about piglin weapons: piglin can't craft, so why the hell would they stick to the normal boring weapons of sword and axe? Those are only used for hunting, not true combat. Tommy's weapon is actually closer to a naginata than a spear, but he wouldn't know that.</p><p>Poor Fundy. He's hurting and nobody notices ;-;</p><p>And the green bastard has finally made an appearance and fucked things up like always! The puppeteer has put many strings in motion and the village is going to be on fire, oh no! : )</p><p>Fun fact, I accidentally sent this line “See, Tommy?” Dream says, almost softly, running a hand through Tommy’s hair. “I’m the only one who cares about you” to the class group chat without context. I swore I was going to die of embarrasment.</p><p>Anyways, comments are my lifeblood and every single time I get one I do a happy wiggle dance and grin like an idiot. Hope you guys enjoyed and until next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Images swim in front of Tommy’s vision. It isn’t the Crimson Tribe he’s seeing, but L’Manburg going up in flames, explosions echoing in the distance as more and more ground crumbles. The splash and strong, syrupy melon taste of a healing potion reach through his hazy mind, forcing him back to the present as the burning itch of healing skin envelops his wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith downs a potion of regeneration themselves, slowly rising up from the ground as they yank the arrow out of their throat, splashing a potion of instant health on the wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>GET TO THE VILLAGE!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>orders Lethi, just as Wraith throws multiple potions of fire resistance at everyone present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy, get to the northernmost corner of the village</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” says Wraith, digging into their leather satchel and pulling out even more bottles of fire resistance and passing them to him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Throw these at anyone who needs them, but get to safety quick!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith waits until Tommy nods his agreement before they down a potion of swiftness and set off towards the village, their floating speed a potion-induced sprint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t think twice before running towards the village. Screams reach his ears as he stumbles near the first tents. He finds a trio of piglin desperately trying to take down their tent before the lava reaches it, and Tommy throws the splash potion at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits to see the glass break, making sure all three are protected before he notices a piglin child and he runs off, barely hearing the thanks of the three piglin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you okay?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>asks Tommy at the panicked child, who immediately clings to his leg and starts sniffling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy acts on instincts born of helping raise Fundy and picks the kid up with one hand. He tucks him close to his chest and carefully cracks a potion over him, watching as the orange shimmering swirls rise from his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A horrifying shriek breaks through Tommy’s focus, and he catches a piglin collapse to the ground, flames engulfing their form, rolling on the ground before the screams cut out, laying there motionless. During an infinite second, Tommy waits for the body to disappear in a puff of smoke. Instead, it stays.</span>
</p><p><em><span>Mobs don’t have three lives,</span></em><span> Phil’s voice says in his mind. </span><em><span>They only get one.</span></em> <em><span>It’s what makes us different from them.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Bile rises in Tommy’s throat, but the child in his arms lets out a quizzical grunt and Tommy turns away from the body, blocking it from the kid’s view. “Fuck,” he quietly curses, getting to his feet and running towards where Wraith told him to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves on autopilot, throwing potion after potion at whoever moves, his vision blurring at the edges from the smoke. He gags as he passes a tent on fire, the smell of burned pork making his stomach churn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching the clearing at the north of the village, he sees the dozens and dozens of piglins all grouped together, Neethel and the Head Healer frantically flitting around, helping as many as they can even through the desperate shouts of piglins trying to find where their loved ones are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sets the child down, running towards Neethel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where’s Wraith?!?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tommy asks, watching as he tends a bleeding gash on a young-looking piglin biting into a piece of leather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Look up!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the only thing that Neethel says, taking then a hot iron rod and pressing it into the wound, cauterizing it despite the piglin’s leather-muffled screams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up to the dripping ceiling, watching as more and more lava slips through widening cracks, finally catching the white figure of Wraith trying to patch up the holes in the ceiling before it gives way even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy could stay with the rest of the village, stay safe and far away from the burning, wait until Wraith returns. His feet are moving before his mind catches up to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He runs as close as he can to the flowing lava, gritting his teeth at the drops of burning liquid falling from the ceiling, and summons the netherrack from his inventory, towering up as fast as he can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his eyes on the ceiling as he jumps, the chunks of rock appearing under his feet at his command. Dust gets into his eyes, but he blinks the tears away and reaches the ceiling, placing netherrack and watching as it magically welds itself with the already-existing rocks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat </span>
  <em>
    <span>burns</span>
  </em>
  <span> every time he swallows, the heat wrapping around him like a straightjacket but he fights it. He’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> with seeing his </span>
  <span>home</span>
  <span> houses get destroyed over and over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What are you doing here?!?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> screeches Wraith, a Ghast-like shriek leaving their mouth, as they float towards him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I told you to go to the clearing!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I went there!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> screams Tommy back, jumping to place another block, before abandoning piglish to scream “And fuck you bitch I am not going back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith releases a wordless screech of frustration before they throw a stack of blocks at Tommy. “Do you still have fire res?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” answers Tommy, focusing on the particles floating from his skin, calculating he has at least two more minutes before the potion runs out. He has two more splash potions, and that’s it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do the south side, you do the north side and for the love of the Blood God, please don’t get hurt,” says Wraith, Tommy straining to hear them over the constant tinnitus in his ears after Logstedshire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods and taking a deep breath, he jumps into the lava. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For a split second, he’s drowning, the burning in his throat tasting salty as the lava dissolves in front of him into the shimmer of water. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy inhales lava by accident and the bizarre taste and unnatural heat snap him out of the memory, forcing him to lean his face out of the current of lava to cough and splutter, barely swimming against the current. He reaches a handhold through the burning sludge and he waits until he can take a deep breath again and plunge back inside. He swims into the lava, forcing his eyes open despite the light being far too bright, and finds the edges of the cracks. He works, his three stacks of netherrack slowly dwindling as he places block after block, taking greedy breaths of air in between before plunging back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His blocks run out both too early and far too soon. He surfaces for the last time, looking down to the village. The tents are smoldering, the flames snuffed out by the fire-resistant cloth without the lava to keep them going, but he can count at least a third of the village’s tents as unsalvageable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world starts to spin, finally being conscious of the tightness in his chest. He coughs and he can taste smoke on his tongue. Inhaling smoke is dangerous; that’s a lesson Sapnap’s burning of the L’Manbergian forest taught them and Tommy yanks his own hair as a punishment for his own stupidity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s getting more and more difficult to breathe, to keep kicking against the current, so instead, he lets himself flow down, trying to get as far from the smoke as he can but gray engulfs his vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely feels it when he hits the ground, lava flowing around him before the darkness swallows him whole.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Dream punches the obsidian frame of the nether portal, spitting a litany of Ender curses. He resists the itching of the healing potion as it knits his skin back together, holding the glass so hard it cracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> the piglins wouldn’t come to his aid. In none of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>centuries</span>
  </em>
  <span> of life had a piglin tribe ever let an outsider be anything more than a passing ally, but somehow Tommy motherfucking Innit had managed to get them to take arms against him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the hell does that child have that makes people follow him? Wilbur’s charisma was something he wielded like a weapon even as his sanity shriveled to nothing. But Tommy got people to like him through a personality as abrasive as sandpaper and as annoying as a mosquito in your ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he had been so close! So close to breaking Tommy and keeping him under his control, but he got too invested in the game and forgot his goal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> his hubris and obsessions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you mad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream turns around to face the grinning mask of his patron god, Exdeh. The thousands of shimmering, firefly-like wings that wrap around him flutter in amusement, breaking the illusion of being a cloak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Off,” he spits, his annoyance rising as the grinning mouth on the deity’s mask grins wider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on, Dreamy!” the deity teases, teleporting to hover over Dream’s shoulder. “You should be happier, you found Tommy after all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew this would happen, didn’t you,” growls Dream, Exdeh’s laugh grating to his ears. “You knew that they’d fight for him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did,” Exdeh says, the smile widening so much it reaches the eyes. “It made things so much more fun!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ruining my plans!” he screams, gripping a hand through his hair. It’s not the first time Dream wants to murder a god, but it sure is the one he’s come the closest to actually trying to. “You–– you fucking–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The eyes of the mask open vertically, the Ender eyes focusing on him with slit pupils, and Dream shuts his mouth with a click. The sparks of divinity in his veins turn to acid and he bows his head, gritting his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The past you would be laughing at this,” hisses Exdeh, cocking his head past what would be possible in a human’s. “Remember your oath, my champion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream nods, swallowing back the taste of endstone dust and dragon’s breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll leave you alone then!” says Exdeh, merrily bouncing up and down, doing a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous</span>
  </em>
  <span> jig, before disappearing in a burst of ender sparks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Remember my oath,” Dream mumbles, furrowing his brow as he thinks back to the moment he swore himself to his god. And then it strikes, his eyes widening as he tenses as if electrocuted. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d grown complacent, forgetting his duties and getting stuck in his games as the years passed and nothing happened. And now time has snuck up on him, unprepared and stumbling blind. How much of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span> is he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck his plans. He doesn’t have time for games anymore.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Wraith fights their tiredness as they float alongside the Tribe, holding an unconscious Tommy in their arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Crimson Tribe walks in solemn silence, some holding children in their arms, others holding corpses. The tents that could be salvaged are slung on their backs, moving as one through the red, towering fungus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wheezing, stuttering breaths that rattle from Tommy’s chest squeeze Wraith’s heart at every turn, mentally repeating to themselves that he’s fine, that the potion should be doing its job. He isn’t going to die. The Tribe survived. They aren’t going to die, nobody’s going to die, not again–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their mind retreats from their body, the tiredness dissipating into the emptiness that invades them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sharp call comes from the front of the march and everyone stops. Wraith blinks back tears of relief as they lay Tommy down onto the ground, retrieving their tent from their inventory and setting it up hastily. The Tribe will only stay there to sleep. Piglish murmurs begin rising, but only ever become a soft screen of background noise, like the pitter-patter of rain on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith lays Tommy on his bed, absentmindedly stroking his hair as he fitfully sleeps, not truly registering the sensation. But even that becomes too much effort to coordinate the movements, their hand’s movements becoming clumsy and uncoordinated, like a puppet with tangled strings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, they give up. Time passes by without thought as they watch Tommy’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes crack open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wraith?” he says, trying to stand up, his voice a painful croak. “What happened?” He tries to stand up, but he sways and collapses back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Wraith?” he says, looking into their face with a worried frown. “...You’re spectating, aren’t you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With effort, they move their hand to one of their tentacles and dig their nails into it hard enough to draw blood. The pain is a focal point, one they grab desperately to get back into their body long enough to calm Tommy down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Wraith answers the words ill-fitting in their mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to the village?” he asks, reaching into his inventory for a bottle of water, uncorking it, and slowly sips, wincing every time he swallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moving,” answers Wraith, digging harder into their tentacle. Tommy glances at the blood slowly dripping from Wraith’s fingers, but he doesn’t say anything. “We stopped to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Why is it so quiet,” Tommy asks a note of terror tinging his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funerals. They’ve all gone to do funerals,” mumbles Wraith, tiredness mixing with the haze of spectating pulling them even farther away. “Only members of the Tribe are allowed in the funerals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we aren’t part of it,” answers Tommy with a kind of resigned bitterness Wraith has only ever heard in their own voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wraith summons their own bed and places it beside Tommy’s, collapsing onto it without a word. They don’t know how much time passes, their head foggy but swirling with static, but at some point, they feel the warmth of Tommy’s back pressing against theirs. The heat sinks into their bones, chasing away a chill Wraith didn’t even know was there in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With silent tears streaming down their face, Wraith drifts off to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am sooooo tired. I shouldn't be awake rn but I told myself I had to finish this chapter today so here you fellas go. One steaming-hot shitshow coming up, with plenty of trauma on the side!</p><p>That said, Dream better get his shit together.</p><p>I love you guys' comments and little notes on the bookmarks, by the way. I read 'em all. And if you bookmark this story, chances are I'll probably search for fics through *your* bookmarks! I've found more than a few rare gems this way.</p><p>And, to finish, here's my Discord server! https://discord.gg/P5TRZxn <br/>Join if you wanna ramble about writing and fandoms!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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